Slytherin Vengeance: The Edge of a Knife
by Metallicafangirl
Summary: Complete. Follow Blaise through the summer after fifth year, as he battles annoying relatives, friends who are being pushed into arranged marriages and his own utter lack of tact. Book 1 of 3
1. The Shadow Rises

My first long project. It all started when I reread the first HP book, and came to the part where Dumbledore takes the house cup away from Slytherin and gives it to Gryffindor instead. It got me angry, because it was like snatching candy from a baby. (sort of) and I decided to give the Slytherins their own story. This is as Slytherin-centric as you can get.  
  
Disclaimer; I do not own anything of this; it belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Bro's. I am making no money of this.  
  
*******'  
  
The dawning age of emotional conflict  
  
Came as the Shadow upon the earth.  
  
Lurking behind shut doors,  
  
And trapped within stone walls of obscurity,  
  
The Shadow remained nameless  
  
- Nicolas J Priselac  
  
*******'  
  
Summer. It a rather nice word when you think about it. It means warmth, sun, and most important of all, no school. Two months that were lesson- free, not a teacher in sight and no homework. The best two months of the year. And in my opinion, the shortest. It was funny really; summer always seemed shorter than it really was, and yet it was the one thing that kept you going through the darker months, also referred to as school.  
  
I actually like school, or at least parts of it, but this year had been a nightmare. Trust me, I will never forget Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons that I'd suffered through under Dolores Umbridge. Maybe that was part of the Ministry's grand plan to take over Hogwarts, but the only teacher I've had that was worse than Umbridge was the Award-Winning Nightmare himself, Gilderoy Lockheart. Umbrige at least taught us something, even if we weren't allowed to use that knowledge; Lockheart only pranced around like a peacock preening its feathers. He was a damn nancy- boy; I was happy when he lost his memory.  
  
The Inquisitorial Squad had been the beginning to the end, and it was all downhill from there. Umbridge making Headmistress had actually made me want to scream out loud. I like Dumbledore, no matter how anti-Slytherin he might be, or how much he might have ruined the school's image, and replacing him with Umbridge of all people was sacrilege. I can still remember, as clearly as if it was yesterday, the first time I met Albus Dumbledore.  
  
It was nothing special really. I was going from the library to the Slytherin Common Room, carrying a book for some Herbology assignment when I stumbled and nearly fell down. Nearly being the keyword. Dumbledore happened to pass at that very moment, and helped me remain standing.  
  
I've never been shy. People always assume I am, just because I keep in the background and mind my own business. The truth is that I just don't see the point in talking to people who don't understand what I'm talking about anyway. But at that very moment, standing face to face with Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of all time, I suddenly felt embarrassed and painfully shy.  
  
A hand on my shoulder shook me out of my reminiscing about Dumbledore, and I looked away from the window to set eyes on my mother. She was standing there, looking like she always did; nervous, happy and ever so slightly damp. I don't know why, but my mother is the kind who burst into tears every time you turn around, or so it seems.  
  
"Yes?" I asked.  
  
"It's time to go Blaise." She said, giving me a watery smile.  
  
I sighed, but got to my feet. I had forgotten I wasn't spending the summer at home. How it had managed to slip my mind I'll never know, because since I started Hogwarts, I'd been spending my summers with Draco, Pansy and Millicent. We'd always been at Malfoy Manor, but this summer, we'd be staying with the Parkinsons. Doubtlessly it was because of Lucius Malfoy's imprisonment.  
  
I frowned. Malfoy Sr. had never been a very pleasant man, although, to us, he had never been particularly unpleasant either. He had been distant, staying in his office or he had not even been in the house, but instead running errands for his ´Master´. Yes, of course I knew he was a Death Eater. You don't get far in the Slytherin house by being stupid, so logic tells that I'm not.  
  
I knew Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater, and yes, I was troubled by that fact. Who would be? I mean, my best friends father basically wanted to exterminate all non-Purebloods in the world. It made him creepy by default, and naturally, I disliked it. Oh well, I wouldn't be bothered by him this summer; he was holed up in Azkaban. Maybe I could send him an owl and tell him to say hello to his cell-mates there.  
  
Draco would be bad enough, trust me. He really, really needs to embrace the virtue called ´intelligence´ and use it. Maturity wouldn't be so bad either. I won't lie and say I'm too mature for my age, but I'm better at acting like it than he is. Which isn't in itself very comforting, since Draco has the subtlety of a brick in your face. This year's Umbridge- following was just the latest of a long list of idiotic, futile and immature plans he's had.  
  
I, Blaise Anubis Zabini, heir and only son of Sebastien Gilles Zabini, am spending the summer in the company of a boy who looks like he bleaches his hair with peroxide. Pity me. On second thought, don't; send me a sack of galleons to make up for it instead.  
  
*******'  
  
My mother seems to have some sort of compulsion to speak whenever it's quiet, just to fill up the awkward silences. At first, it might seem endearing, but it really isn't. It's just very, very annoying. So annoying, in fact, that I after only fifteen minutes into the carriage ride was quite ready to tell her to shut the hell up. However, since she is my mother after all, I couldn't possibly say that, and kept my silence. Serenity was supposed to be a dominant trait in the Zabini bloodline, but at the moment, that serenity seemed to have taken a vacation.  
  
I am not old enough to have my Apparition license, and therefore, we couldn't possibly Apparate to the Parkinson's place. Thus, I was stuck in a carriage with my dotty mother for at least an hour and a half. It was almost as much torture as five years worth of Potions class with the Gryffindors. A nightmare might have been an understatement. At least Potions class taught me something, if only because of Granger's incessant questions.  
  
How to get through this? Let's see, repeating Binns lectures hadn't helped, as they only made me want to curl up and sleep, causing my mother to ask me what was wrong, so I scrapped that idea pretty quickly. Instead, I found myself repeating the contents of an old book I'd found in the school- library earlier that year. It was called ´The Rights and Rules of Scheming´. Kind of like a handbook for evil overlords who wish to take over the world. Thank God no one's showed it to Voldemort. He's mad enough as it is, and just thinking of him as the ruler of anything save his own socks makes me shudder.  
  
I'm a Slytherin who doesn't support Voldemort. Yes, I dare to say or at least think his name. And I'm not all that unusual either. People need to learn that ´Slytherin´ isn't shorthand for ´Death-Eater in training.´ Granted, more Death Eaters and Dark Wizards has come from Slytherin than anywhere else, but just because a few of us turned bad doesn't mean all of us will. I myself have no interest of becoming a Death Eater. It sounds like the fastest way to get you killed, and whatever I want, dying doesn't even make the list.  
  
When Voldemort returned last year, the Ministry immediately rejected any possibility of it happening. It's rather stupid of them. Now finally, they at least admit he's alive, but the situation isn't getting better. Some dim witted person hatched the harebrained idea that it might not be the real Voldemort, but an impersonator, who just happens to look the same, act the same and have the same powers. A second Dark Lord, if you will. Which is completely ludicrous of course. There is not two Voldemorts; it's one psycho with a wand. Thankfully, whoever it was wasn't believed.  
  
I don't really care what they believe; he is back, and he's going to stay until someone gets him a one-way ticket to the afterlife. That someone is probably going to be Potter once again, and whatever else I might think of him, he's a good person to have around when the darkest wizard since Grindelwald is hanging around, demanding to be handed the crown of the whole world on a silver platter.  
  
I sighed and looked out the window. The landscape was rolling by slowly, too slowly for my tastes, and I was growing bored as we went. Being bored always makes me think too much. Of like how I don't want to be a Death Eater. Of how much I dislike being treated like I am one. How much I am going to regret taking on a special project for Charms. Of how much I want to strangle my mother for never shutting up.  
  
I've always been a quiet sort of person, tending to listen while others talk, instead of talking while others listen. My little sister is much the same way, just as my father is. My mother must have come from another planet, because she never stops talking. The whole family tends to be quiet and listen while she rambles. I've never understood what my father sees in her, although sometimes, when she's talking about nothing and has been for hours on end, I catch him smiling at her. Maybe love is blind, just as they say.  
  
Now, if this ride would just end, everything would be perfect. A whole summer with my friends, doing whatever we want sounds like a dream come true, which only once again proves that my short-term memory I failing. I've been spending all my summers with my friends since I started Hogwarts. Our parents thought it would be educational if we were to do all our homework together, and that if we got to know each other better, our grades would rise. Parents can be stupid at times.  
  
*****'  
  
I quickly got out of the carriage, hugged my mother goodbye, grabbed my bags and got the hell away from her. One more minute of tireless chatter about curtains, or whatever it was she was speaking of, and I would have gone stark raving mad. The whole, ´frothing-at-the-mouth, I'm-the-king-of- the-world, bang-my-head-against-the-wall´ crazy. But enough about that; I needed to find my friends.  
  
They weren't that hard to find; Pansy lives in a large house, not large enough to be called mansion, but near enough, and they with the exception of Pansy's parents were the only people in the house. And it is kind of hard to lose someone as loud as Pansy in any case. She can be heard across the Atlantic Ocean without even trying too hard. But she's still, despite all that, one of the few people I could take being stranded on an uninhabited island with.  
  
"Blaise!"  
  
Oh no, I know that voice. It was time to brace myself to the inevitable. And just as I expected, twenty seconds later, Pansy came storming out of the house, tackle-hugged me and sent me stumbling backwards. I am not, I am quite sorry to say, very robust. I am more on the thin and lanky side, and next to Draco and Pansy, I looked like that Muggle movie character, Jack Skellington. And I only know of him because my sister was obsessed with the movie after our mother took her to the Muggle part of the town we live in, and she happened to stumble on it in a store.  
  
She forced me to watch it with her, resulting in me knowing all the lines and all the songs, having seen it at least ten times. My sister, however sweet, can be rather annoying at times. I swear, if someone woke me up in the middle of the night, I'd be able to sing that horrible ´Kidnap Mr Sandy Clause´ song immediately. Trust me, when I grow up, I'll write a book about my tragic childhood. And my sister and the endless torture she put me through are going to be large parts of it.  
  
Sighing, I suffered through Pansy's bone-crushing hug in silence, because I knew that if I struggled, it'd only get worse. She'd let me get away soon anyway; she had hugged me like this every morning since we became friends, so I'm used to it by now. After a while, she finally let go and stood up straight again.  
  
"Hello Pansy." I said, smiling slightly.  
  
"Oh, Blaise you look so handsome!" She gushed.  
  
I grinned as I recognized the tired old joke, and immediately gave the same reply I had given every time she used it.  
  
"I would say the same for you, but my mother taught me not to lie." I shot back.  
  
"Well, my mother taught me that a white lie never hurt anyone." Pansy gave me another hug, but this time not as rib-breaking and then dragged me into the house.  
  
"I take it Draco and Millie are already here?" I asked, trying to sound calm, even though I was nearly horizontal in posture at the moment.  
  
"Oh yes, Millie came yesterday, and Draco only a few hours ago. Mum and Dad aren't here; they're away for some meeting of Dads, which means we have free reign till they come home." Pansy said as she opened the front door.  
  
"I vote for getting smashed." I said, thinking of how funny it would be seeing Draco drunk off his rocker.  
  
"Shut it you! You know how angry Dad was when he found out you nicked his tobacco." Pansy snapped, "You nearly weren't allowed back this summer because of that!"  
  
I chuckled. She was right; her father had been angry as hell when he found out that Draco and I nicked his tobacco, right out of his pocket. We weren't going to use it for anything but apparently he thought so, because we got the yelling of our lives from him. I will never be even contemplating stealing from him again. But it would have been fun to get Draco drunk and trick him into jumping in the lake. Oh well.  
  
"I know, but that's what made it so fun, Pansy." I grinned. I seem to do that a lot.  
  
"Oh, shut it you!" She snapped, but I could she a faint smile on her face.  
  
As a Slytherin, I early on learned to read expressions, and to find feelings and thoughts where there seem to be none. And I know Pansy better than she thinks I do. There was something wrong with her, and I am going to find out what it is.  
  
We entered the house and soon ran into Draco and Millicent. Seeing the look on Pansy's face when she looked at Draco, I knew I had found the root of her problems. Draco wasn't looking as happy as he usually did either, and from the glances he exchanged with Pansy, I knew there was something they were hiding from us. I ignored it for the time being and turned to Millicent instead.  
  
I like Millicent. She's sensible, she's funny and most of all; she's just as much a cynic as I am. She might be heavyset and slightly too masculine looking for a girl, but with that mind and that wicked sense of humour, I never bothered with looking at her exterior. I like her, as previously stated, but we will never go beyond friendship. We have that sibling-like rivalry between the two of us, and I don't see it changing any time soon. We have our spats and our arguments, but they more often than not end in both of us laughing, and if either one of us is ever feeling down, we both know that the other is always there to listen. She's like the twin I never had.  
  
I grinned at her and she grinned back, tucking a lock of her black hair back behind her ear. She even looks like me. Well, a little at least. No one in the universe looks like me. I had the misfortune to inherit my mother's black, tumbling curls, although I keep them short enough to only touch my cheeks at worst, and I got my gangly figure from my father. Sometimes, owing to my preference for black clothes, I really do look like Jack Skellington. Without the prolonged absence of life, of course. I got my triangular face from my father as well, but only God knows where I got my eyes.  
  
When my sister gets angry with me, which is only rarely I'm proud to say, she calls me "freak". She doesn't mean anything hurtful by it, but it never fails to sting, if only a little. I know there's more than one grain of truth in that insult. Due to some accident while my mother was pregnant with me, I was born with a very unique set of eyes. They aren't malformed as such, but one is a light shade of blue, while the other is green. And I don't mean grey-green, but the same shade that the Slytherin ties are. And the green one is slightly, almost unnoticeable, larger than the blue one. It seems like I've been investigating this very thoroughly, but I actually haven't. But since I have been wearing this face for nearly sixteen years, I know it well by now. And I know that I am, in one word, ugly.  
  
I'm too thin, I'm too tall, my eyes are mismatched, my face is too triangular and my feet are too big. But I'm a Slytherin, and I'll be damned if I'll let physical appearances slow me down. What sort of Slytherin would I be if I did? As long as my mind is cunning and my wit sharp, whether I look like I slept in a dumpster isn't going to make a difference.  
  
I gave Draco a grin and a handshake, and he smiled back. We immediately settled back into our old and well-worn school roles. Since it had only been a week, it wasn't hard. Crabbe and Goyle had always been his cronies, but I had the role of lesser known sidekick who has been known to read a book once or twice. Slytherins have livelier imagination than the other three houses, which probably can be blamed for our many pranks and our nearly always successful plots. Plots which I have been the father of many times.  
  
"Welcome to the House of Insanity, Blaise." Draco smiled, looking rather troubled.  
  
"Insanity? Has it really gotten that bad?" I asked, "What happened with you and Pansy?"  
  
"Found that out didn't you?" He grimaced, as we headed out through the back door.  
  
"I know something happened," I said cautiously, "But I don't know what."  
  
Judging from their faces as we sat down under the large willow, it was something pretty bad. Even Millicent, who could find something to laugh about even at her own funeral, was looking grave. I sat down on the misshaped tree's lowest branch and looked from Draco to Pansy and back again. Soon enough, one of them would speak. That much I knew.  
  
"Remember when my mother took me aside when we arrived at Kings Cross?" Pansy asked, nervously clenching and unclenching her hands.  
  
I nodded. It remembered that clearly, since my short-term memory isn't as poor as, say Longbottoms. Pansy's mother, a tall, rather withdrawn woman with thick dark blond hair, had indeed pulled Pansy aside when we came to Kings Cross. I didn't hear what they were saying, and as I had to go almost immediately, I don't know what happened afterwards.  
  
"Well, it turns out she's already decided who I'm going to marry." She swallowed.  
  
Alright, now I was thoroughly confused. We're only fifteen, for crying out loud! And from the looks of it, it wasn't someone Pansy would appreciate being married to. From the looks of Draco's face, it was someone he wanted to rearrange physically and permanently. Hell, I wanted to do something drastic, like rip out his spine and beat him to death with it.  
  
"Who is it?" I asked, and I sounded like someone had dropped an anvil on my head.  
  
"Cassius Warrington." Draco spat, sounding angrier than I had seen him in a long time.  
  
"Cass- Wait, that can't be right!" I exclaimed.  
  
Cassius Warrington wasn't, should we say, a very nice sort of person. He had, I learned from very reliable recourses, joined the Death Eater society immediately after graduating from Hogwarts. From what I know, he isn't loyal to their cause, as much as only a Death Eater in name, since he spends all his time flying for the Falmouth Falcons. But being a non-Death Eater still didn't improve his mood. If there was any person on this Earth who was worse than Warrington on a bad day, I had yet to find him. Snape doesn't count; I suspect they slipped something in his coffee to make him the way he is.  
  
But back to Warrington. He wasn't rich, he wasn't well-mannered, and he wasn't powerful. In fact, the only thing that spoke for the marriage was his lineage, which was Pureblooded and had been for a long while. But there was no sensible reason for him to marry Pansy when I knew he had it in for Su Li of Ravenclaw. What the he sees in her I'll never know. Maybe it's just because he's got nothing better to do. Maybe it's just a rumour.  
  
"It is. She's marrying Cassius-bloody-Warrington." Draco looked momentarily sad, before straightening up and exchanging it for an angry sneer instead.  
  
"I don't want to. I really, really don't want to. I don't like him at all; he used to harass me while he went to Hogwarts." Pansy muttered, "Besides, I've seen his mother. She's got this dead, lifeless look in her eyes, and even when she smiles, it doesn't go away. I don't want to become like her."  
  
"Then don't."  
  
I turned my head to Millicent, who was lying, head on her forearms, on the branch to the right of mine. Millicent rarely speaks unless she's got something important to say, or a sarcastic comment to deliver. I'm not sure of what category the last line belongs in. After all, it had sounded relevant, but it had been delivered in a decidedly sarcastic tone.  
  
"What do you mean, Millie?" I asked.  
  
"I mean she doesn't have to become like Warrington's mother." Millicent replied, raising an eyebrow at me. "She doesn't have to be someone else. If Warrington doesn't like her the way she is, well then, screw him, right?"  
  
"Flawless logic, dear Millie," I grinned, "But it doesn't work like that. Warrington would only have to find someone to fall for, and I know just the girl. Su Li of Ravenclaw; she's smart and she's even pretty, so I've no doubt he'll consider her at least. All we have to do is convince the two of them to get their damn act together, so Pansy doesn't have to marry him, and it'll all be solved."  
  
"Well, dear Plot-Hatcher, how do we accomplish that?"  
  
Plot-Hatcher is an old nickname of mine, and Millicent enjoys reminding me of it as often as she can. I earned it by always having at least three backup plans for whatever we were doing. Since Plan A is obviously not going to work, I might as well skip it and go directly to Plan B, or at least that's how it got started. But this time, to tell the truth, I didn't have any clear plans. I had traces and beginnings of one, but nothing finished.  
  
"I'm not sure. Send Warrington to China with a one-way ticket?" I suggested, only half-jesting. "Poison his food? Play matchmaker for Li and Warrington? Any ideas?"  
  
"Gee, Plotty, the last one sounded almost relevant. How do you do it?" Millicent grinned.  
  
"I'm born this way, Millie, what's you excuse?" I chuckled.  
  
"Excuses are for cowards." Millicent snorted. "But back on topic; matchmaking between Warrington and Li. How?"  
  
Silence descended over the old willow tree for a few minutes, as Pansy was staring to look hopeful, as did Draco, and the main plotters of the little gang, namely I and Millicent, were trying to come up with a way to save their sorry behinds.  
  
This was turning out better than I'd imagined. Usually, we just go over to the Manor or wherever we're staying, and we spend our days playing Wizards chess and being slowly bored to death. None of our parents ever lets us do anything remotely funny. Probably because they know we'd raise hell if they let us. It's what Slytherins do, and I see no reason why we should be following a different set of rules than those of our classmates. Of course, we already follow widely different regulations, but only when it suits our purposes.  
  
But back on topic. I knew Li was a member of a very old wizard family, all of which had been either Ravenclaws or Slytherins. She was, much like every Ravenclaw, prone to keep in the background and mind her own business. All in all, someone I could get along with fine, provided she kept silent. Nobody likes a know-it-all, but I had a feeling Li would keep her knowledge to herself unless asked about it. I was sure Warrington would like her if he only had the chance to get to know her.  
  
"Pansy?" I ventured, breaking her out of her conversation with Draco.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Will you be inviting Warrington over for one of those dinner parties you mother insists on always having?" I asked, because a plan was beginning to from in my mind.  
  
"Yes, she mentioned something about it. She said I could invite my friends if I wanted to as well, so you're all coming." Pansy grinned.  
  
"Gee, how nice of you to ask." Millicent muttered.  
  
"That's perfect Pansy; invite Su Li as well, and say it's one of your friends. She'll come since her parents want her to gain more friends and get out more, and then we have the perfect opportunity to set them up!" I always get overly enthusiastic about my well laid plans, and this time was no different.  
  
"Once again, Plot-Hatcher, you leave me to patch up the holes in your amazingly transparent plans." Millicent shot at me, "How do we know Li will even like the guy?"  
  
"I'll leave that to you girl, who understand each other; I don't dare to analyze the female psyche." I shrugged. "You girls are too crazy for me."  
  
"So you fancy boys then, Blaise?" Pansy asked, smiling widely.  
  
"No, Pansy, I don't. And I never will. I do fancy girls; I'm just saying I don't understand them." I sighed.  
  
We'd been over this a hundred times; I would be stupid enough to drop a comment that could be taken two ways, and then Pansy or Draco would ask me if I fancied boys, and I'd say no. I will never know where they got the notion that I would fancy boys, as I had never even indicated anything of the sort. Of course, I hadn't shown any particular interest in girls either, but that was because the girls in our year were too damn stupid, and those who weren't were in Ravenclaw in any case. And I knew it would be a dead-end anyway.  
  
I had known from and early age that I would, just as Pansy, be married off to a girl my parents chose. It was one of the Pureblood rules of conduct. My parents would pick a girl of good lineage, and good wealth, and then I'd be expected to marry her without complaints. If nothing changed in a year or so, I knew it'd be Millicent, and I couldn't say I was too awkward about it. If you're going to marry someone you don't love, it might as well be a friend, eh? And Millicent, despite her habit of treating me as a vermin that needed to be disposed of, could actually be nice if she had to.  
  
I glanced over at Draco, where he sat talking to Pansy. I know why he's against the marriage. He's fancied Pansy for quite a while now, and even if he doesn't say it, I know he does, because he has a bad habit of talking in his sleep. He should be happy that Crabbe and Goyle are as stupid as they look, and that I am his friend, because if we weren't, he'd soon have all his secrets out over the school. Maybe he hoped that since his father was in prison, he'd have a chance to get Pansy without parental interference. He hasn't a hope in hell; Narcissa Malfoy is the most meddlesome woman on the planet.  
  
But now we need only to wait for Pansy's parents to come home; I need to ask her mother about inviting Su Li, and whether or not Warrington is actually coming. Until then, I shall tease my friend mercilessly, just as I always do at these occasions. Maybe I shall even invent a new way to get back at the Gryffindors.  
  
*******'  
  
Ending Notes; as first chapters go, this one wasn't so bad. I like it in fact. Next time, Blaise's plots will continue, and maybe Pansy will even get out of marrying Cassius Warrington. Who knows? 


	2. Fear of the War

I have the grand total of..one review. I don't let it bother me though. At the time of this update, it is one review. Hopefully, the count will increase. I'll go off and write something now.  
  
******'  
  
You are young, and I am older;  
  
You are hopeful, I am not -  
  
Enjoy life, ere it grow colder -  
  
-- "You Are Young", by Abraham Lincoln  
  
******'  
  
Dinner at the Parkinsons isn't a very bright affair, and it has never been. Mrs Parkinson insists on silence while one is eating, and that children should only speak when spoken to. This makes for one-sided conversation and boredom for the younger members of the company. I, being one of those younger members, was of course bored. All I was waiting for was for Mrs Parkinson (I never bothered to learn her name) to ask Pansy what had happened while they were gone. Meanwhile, I could watch the other occupants of the table. There's Millicent and Draco of course, and then there's Mr Parkinson.  
  
Unlike with Pansy's mother, I tried to learn his first name, but he doesn't seem to have one. It's like he was born as Mr Parkinson. He was probably called something like ´Parkinson Jr´ while at school. He was the kind of non-descript fellow who no one noticed until they got selected Head Boy instead of you. Brown hair, brown eyes, middling-tall and completely cowed by his superior wife. There was one thing I admired about him; his serenity. He could sit in the middle of an O.W.L exam, and he wouldn't even bat an eyelash. He was so completely and utterly calm that even I was impressed. He looked like he might be named William. Yes, he was definitely a William.  
  
I busied myself with the food, which unfortunately happened to be fish, which I utterly despise, but had no choice about eating anyway, and waited for Mrs Parkinson to speak. I knew better than to reject the food she served, because I had had enough beatings in my lifetime. I didn't suspect that Mrs Parkinson might beat me, but I wouldn't put it past her to pay someone who would. But I'd gotten in fights with Crabbe and Goyle often (and stupidly) enough to be able to take it without whining. I don't know why I was stupid enough to even pick a fight with them, because they hit hard, but I did. Blame it on youthful ignorance. It has definitely led me to believe that ignorance was certainly not bliss.  
  
"Pansy dear, what did you four do today?"  
  
Well, finally! I glanced at Mrs Parkinson from beneath my unruly hair, suppressing a sigh of relief at the last second. What had taken the woman so long? Did she have problems working out which end of the fork to stick in her mouth? And they say blonds aren't as stupid as they're made out to be. She's so mind-numbingly dumb sometimes, it makes me shudder. I glanced over at pansy, who folded her hands in her lap.  
  
"Well, mother, we discussed the upcoming dinner party we are having, and that I wanted to invite a friend of mine, besides Blaise, Draco and Millicent." She said, smiling brightly.  
  
I grinned to myself. Pansy was a good actor, as were the rest of us. I just knew she wanted to bash her mother a good one, but didn't, because she knew it would hit back on her somehow. Instead, she just smiled brightly at her highly irritating mother, and spoke sweetly, just like the perfect daughter. She's good. She's damn good.  
  
"And who would that be my dear?" Mr Parkinson-who-looked-suspiciously-like- a-William asked his daughter.  
  
"Su Li." I piped up.  
  
Maybe I wasn't supposed to answer a question addressed to Pansy, but Pansy's father didn't look all that vicious, so I took the chance. And it turned out I was in the right; he just looked at me with mild interest, looking even more like a William than before. I know I am getting stuck on the William-issue, but I just couldn't get it out of my head. It often turns out that way. I get an idea and it won't go away until I've disposed of it by putting it into action or throwing it off the Astronomy Tower. That's probably why the Slytherins in my year has gotten in more trouble than any other year in recent history.  
  
"Li? That is the Asian family, isn't it?" Mrs Parkinson asked, voice sounding icy.  
  
"Yes, mother. It is. But she is a Ravenclaw I got on very well with this last year, and I wanted to invite her so that she could see the splendour of our home." Pansy's smile was looking strained by now.  
  
Whatever else you might say about Mrs Parkinson, flatter will get you anything from her. Even if it means she'll let a Ravenclaw girl of Asian origins into her house. Sometimes, I suspect she's like the followers of that Muggle dictator from German. H-something. I never bothered to take Muggle Studies. But back on the topic, Mrs Parkinson agreed to let Li come, if only to impress her acquaintances with an intelligent Ravenclaw. I nearly slapped myself on the back; I had the perfect opportunity to set the two problems up. The problems being Cassius Warrington and Su Li.  
  
But with Mrs Parkinson pacified, that should be an easy task. The actual problem would be making Li and Warrington hook up without anyone but the plotters realizing it happened. Warrington, always having had an eye for pretty girls, would be easy to convince about the pros of the plan. Li would be a harder nut to crack. Ravenclaws, for all their claims of knowledge, could be so clueless.  
  
I concentrated on my food as Pansy and her mother kept talking. No matter how much I loathed fish, I was a teenage boy and I needed all the food I could get, if I were to be anything more than a perpetual skin-and-bones figure. Being able to hide behind a pole that's six inches wide isn't exactly a party trick you want to brag about.  
  
********'  
  
Apparently, since Mrs Parkinson doesn't trust us one bit, we were all under constant surveillance while in the house. We all got rooms next to each other, and far away from Pansy, rendering it impossible for us to sneak into her room and have midnight pillow-fights without getting caught, something we used to do all the time at Hogwarts during second and third year.  
  
I changed into my nightclothes, which basically consisted of an overlarge green shirt and my boxers, and got to bed. I had the basics for my plan, but I needed to work it out with Millicent before I did anything. And I didn't even know if Su Li was coming yet. She might say no. Girls were difficult like that. I will probably never understand them, but my father gave me the dreaded ´talk´ when I came home this year, and he advised me never to even try. He's at least twenty-five years older than I am, and he still doesn't know everything. I expect he never will, and neither will I.  
  
I wrapped the covers around me tightly, since I am prone to kick them off and often end up waking up in the morning with the covers all over the floor and the pillow out the window. What can I say? I'm a messy sleeper. I always had a preference for Muggle T-shirts, besides my penchant for black, and I often bought overly large ones to sleep in. The one I wore tonight was no different; it was large enough to go past my bony knees, and that's saying something. If I wasn't careful, it'd slip off my shoulders and leave me standing in my boxers, but since I didn't plan on attending any parties in it, I didn't care.  
  
Usually, I'm a night-owl, staying up to the wee hours of the morning, reading, writing, studying, whatever catches my fancy, and this night was no different. I found myself staring at the ceiling, thinking about everything that had happened over the last year and what would probably happen in a few weeks, when we got back to school again.  
  
I was one of the few Slytherins to stand up and honour Cedric Diggory at the end of year feast in fourth year. I felt I owed it to him. We didn't know each others, but he was one of those guys you always wanted to be friend with as a child, and there wasn't one person in the whole castle that could honestly say that they didn't like him. Not even Snape. And he had been our Hogwarts Champion in the Triwizard Tournament, something Potter only got because of cheating. Admittedly not on his part, but still.  
  
Snape told us about Barty Crouch Jr, even though he shouldn't have. Dumbledore didn't want it to get out, but he told us because he knows us. He knows we wouldn't just go along with whatever Dumbledore said. Slytherins aren't like that, not at all, and we never will be. We're smarter than that; we can figure out when something's missing in a story that is so obviously fabricated. And we never even got the whole story from Dumbledore.  
  
I am proud of being a Slytherin. Slytherin is seen as an evil House, a House you should stay well away from, and a House you should go to whatever means to avoid ending up in. Most people spit on us, declaring we aren't worth their time of day. Most people think we're horrible, petty, snivelling little bastards who aren't going to Hogwarts for anything else than to excel at Defence Against the Dark Arts, training us for our service to Voldemort. Most people think Slytherins have no purpose in life but to become Death Eaters.  
  
Most people are stupid.  
  
Less than half of the Slytherin House doesn't want to come within ten leagues of a Death Eater, and the other half are either too brainwashed or so far removed from reality that it couldn't get in touch with them with a ten foot pole. But the major part of us who think regularly, creatively and fairly correctly, in the end, we were the ones who counted. No one gets far in life by being kind and gentle. You get more with a kind word and a two- by-four than you get with just a kind word. We learn early on to take what life thrown at us and turn it in our favour. It's the only way to survive.  
  
Especially now.  
  
I have I feeling that Slytherin will play a large part in the Dark Lord's downfall. I don't know how; I just feel it in my bones. It's as if somehow I was born with this knowledge. This war is going to decide the fate of the wizarding world, and for some reason, I know, on some primal, bone-deep level, that the green and silver House will play a central role. And it makes sense. Horrible, terrifying sense.  
  
Gryffindors are probable to rush head-straight into battle, thinking that they can take Voldemort by surprise. They have a huge hero-complex, every last one of them, and they're the kind of people who think that dying to save one person who is going to die anyway is better than waiting for a while and save everyone, including themselves. Ravenclaws would probably hole up in their libraries, devising plans, and when even they couldn't hide anymore, the war would be long over. Hufflepuffs, they'd be there, be it raining or snowing, storming or in the black of the night. They'd do what had to be done, and seeing it through, because if I've ever met someone more loyal than a Hufflepuff, I can't recall him. They're the kind of people I'd like to have on my side in a war. But they aren't strategists.  
  
Slytherins know how to plot and plan and outright lie through their teeth. We can outsmart an enemy; even stab allies in the back if we have to. We have no illusions about anyone or anything. It would only trouble us. We are, simply put, the only ones who could ever bring Voldemort down. We know how he thinks, because we think the same way.  
  
When I heard about the war, I was afraid. I was scared to death, and I won't deny it. I still am. I have never been so scare din my life and I sincerely hope I never will. I am afraid because I, as the other three houses don't, know what'll happen if Voldemort wins. I know exactly what will happen even if he doesn't. He won't go down easily. He will fight us every step of the way. I won't trust that he is dead until I've chopped him to pieces and buried him under a rock, and even then, I'll choose a very heavy rock. I don't care if I'll have to do a Gryffindor and sacrifice myself, but he's going down. I refuse to live in a world where Voldemort is given free reign, and as long as I live and breathe, he is not going to get it easily, because if I so have to become a Death Eater myself and get close enough to him and rip his heart out with my bare hands.  
  
But that would be a hard thing to do, especially while everyone distrusted us so completely, and when not even our Housemates would look at us straight. I clutched the covers closer and shivered slightly in the cold night air. I am determined to bring Voldemort down, even if I have to do it from the sidelines. I don't care about recognition or fame; all I want is to be free to do what I want. I'll help Potter and Dumbledore if I have to, to give the world freedom. But I'll show them what freedom costs. You can't have it for free. It'll cost them greatly, and I won't lift a finger to help them. If they want freedom so damn much, they can have it.  
  
I have a bad habit of letting my thoughts fly around at night, not even bothering to control them. I think about whatever catches my fancy, and I often stay awake for hours, trying to figure out a way out of my problems, if I had any. And this time I had. I couldn't help focusing on Voldemort and the damned war. If we took one step wrong in preparing for it, there'd be hell to pay.  
  
Sighing, I closed my eyes and tried to catch upon my sleep. I curled up slightly and wrapped the covers around me, trying to get some warmth out of them, and soon I was drifting off to sleep.  
  
*********'  
  
As a counter-action of my habitual late nights, I sleep in the next morning almost every time, but this time; my plans for sleep were foiled by Millicent banging on my door at eight o' clock. I got out of bed and nearly crawled to the door, grumbling the whole way and cursing the sun peeking through the window. I managed to get hold of the door handle and hoisted myself up off the floor and opened the door. Outside stood Millicent, fully clothed and grinning at me, entirely too awake and happy to be legal.  
  
"What?" I snapped, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.  
  
"Good morning, Blaise. Nice outfit. Where did you get them bony knees?" She greeted, grinning even wider.  
  
"I keep them in my drawer." I bit back, "What are you doing here?"  
  
"I was asked to get you and come down to breakfast. So get dressed." Millicent ordered.  
  
"I'll hop to it." I muttered.  
  
I really, really hate mornings. They're only there so that the night and the day won't bump into each other anyway. I'm the kind of person who wakes up, and it's all downhill form there. I'm not really human before lunch, and even then only after I've had some coffee. Speaking of which, I need coffee. Coffee is good, morning are bad. Coffee...  
  
I sleepwalked down to the breakfast table, and sat down in my chair. Mr possibly-William Parkinson was sitting across from me, and watched curiously as I reached for the coffee and started drinking immediately. I had way too much blood in my body, which could be replaced by coffee. It'd probably work more efficiently if it ran on coffee anyhow. I'd be able to do my homework on time, even if I succeeded in doing that anyway, and maybe I'd get up every morning without having to crawl across the floor.  
  
After a while, Draco came down the stairs, closely followed by Pansy, both of them looking a little tired, but all around happy. I resented them for a moment, but knew the feeling would go away after my coffee intake. I could feel Mr Parkinson watching the four of us as I gulped the coffee down and the other three stayed at least ten feet away from me until I'd drained my cup. This was our usual habit, one we'd picked up after Draco was careless enough to ask me about a homework assignment before breakfast. I smiled at the memory; I'd completely blown up and threatened to hex him six ways to hell. Needless to say, after that they stayed away from me before breakfast. Only Millicent was brave enough to come and wake me. Probably because they knew I'd hesitate to hex her; she's got the highest grades in Charms in our year, up to and including Granger.  
  
When I'd drained my cup, the other three moved closer. Mr probably-William smiled slightly, and then went back to his copy of the Daily Prophet. I scanned the front page, seeing today's headlines. Something about a newly discovered charm of no specific purpose, and the daily Harry Potter. The blasted Gryffindor had been in the paper every day since the Department of Mysteries incident. I didn't really get it. I mean, yeah, sure, he'd battled some Death Eaters and faced Voldemort for the fifth time, but he'd had help from Weasley and Weasley, Granger, that loony Ravenclaw Lovegood and Longbottom of all people.  
  
Don't get me wrong, I can put up with the guy if I have to, but everything he's famous for is a joke. I was in the hospital wing that time in first year when Dumbledore told Potter what his mother had done when Voldemort attacked him. I know why Voldemort disappeared the first time. Potter is famous for something his mother did. I can imagine that isn't very nice; ´Hey, I'm Harry Potter, and I'm famous because my Mum died´. And as for his adventures at school, well he always had help from Weasley and Granger. I can put up with him, but I don't like him, not by a long shot, and I never will. He has too many prejudices for me to ever accept him and his way of thinking.  
  
In second year, there was a rumour that he was the Heir of Slytherin. I doubted it till the last minute. An Heir of Slytherin would never do what he did; throw himself into the Chamber of Secrets without alerting someone first. A Slytherin would have told the teachers or at least some Housemates before being reckless, so that they'd have some backup when needed. And a Slytherin would never have been foolish enough to even get in that situation. I really, really don't like him, the way I really, really don't like mornings. He just makes my skin crawl. He's too...hero-ish I suppose. Too Gryffindor.  
  
We went outside after breakfast, and Draco got the brooms out to play a bit of Quidditch. Actually, it wasn't Quidditch but a game we invented ourselves, but since we didn't have any better name, it ended up as Quidditch anyway. There're no Beaters or Bludgers, since Pansy's mother wouldn't let her play if there were, so we added some extra rules for the Chasers instead. The only problem is, since we weren't enough people to have both Seekers and Chasers, we had to come up with another way to end the game. It ended up as Chasers-versus-Chasers in the end, with make-shift goal hoops and no real structure to it, but it is fun and a great way for Draco to keep in shape over summer, so we play it anyway. And it has the positive feature that the girls can join in as well without Mrs Parkinson throwing a wobbler.  
  
I took off from the ground, and the wind immediately ruffled my hair, which wasn't much of a change. I enjoy flying. It makes me feel like I can do anything; even defeat Voldemort, before breakfast. Not that it would be very difficult with me, seeing as I have a habit of biting people's heads off before breakfast. But I really do enjoy flying; because it has a way of making problems seem easy to tackle, or can even change my mind about something I'm convinced is right and true. It's probably flying that's responsible for my determination not to be a Death Eater.  
  
Draco threw me the Quaffle and I sped off towards the goal hoops. I'm not as good as Potter is at flying, but I'm one of the fastest flyers in school. And that's saying something, considering that Hogwarts has put forth some of the speediest Seekers in the wizarding world. Even on an old Silverarrow, I can out-fly most Quidditch players I've met. Everyone is good at something, and fast flying seemed to be mine.  
  
I dodged Millicent coming the other way, and ducked to avoid Pansy. The girls weren't professionals, but they were good enough to provide a fight, even for the Quidditch teams. I won't lie and say I'm a good player, but I'm damn fast, and that is sometimes enough to make it difficult for them. Usually, Draco and Pansy team up, and then I and Millicent, but the girls had wanted to play by themselves today.  
  
I managed to get close to the goal hoops, and threw the Quaffle through it. Millicent, who was playing both Keeper and Chaser, didn't have a chance to dodge it. I shot back across the field towards Draco, and the game resumed, this time with Pansy holding the Quaffle. We played for hours, and memorable hours they were.  
  
Millicent seemed to have read the ´700 Quidditch Fouls´ during the week, and was using that knowledge liberally. Once, she nearly knocked me off my broom and got away with it because I couldn't prove she'd done it on purpose. She laughed about it the whole day too. But since I almost broke her nose with my elbow, I guess she's entitled to do that. What can I say? My elbows get out of hand at times. At least that's my excuse. Or lack of it rather. Bah, excuses are for wimps anyway.  
  
In the end, Draco and I won, but only by a few goals. The girls were getting tough this year. Maybe the Quidditch captain would let Millicent join the team this year. Pansy wouldn't be allowed to join by her mother. It would be too dangerous. I couldn't say I didn't agree, since Quidditch is a rough sport.  
  
"Hey, Blaise, have you gotten your O.W.L results yet?" Draco asked as they walked back to the house.  
  
"Draco, none of us have, so why should I be any different?" I asked back.  
  
"I don't know. No matter how funny Quidditch is, it'd be fun to know whether you made it through fifth year or not." Draco sighed.  
  
"Well, of course we made it through fifth year Draco; we're alive, aren't we?" I said.  
  
To my surprise, I found that I was telling exactly how I felt. I saw success in fifth year as being alive. First Umbridge, that gruesome old bird, and then the Inquisitorial Squad fiasco, and then of course the Department of Mysteries. I'm surprised I made it to Christmas break without ending up in the hospital wing.  
  
"You meant that, didn't you Blaise?" Millicent asked.  
  
"Yeah," I replied as we put the brooms back in the broom-shed and sat down on the grass outside, "I do. We made it out alive and we should be damn happy about it too. Look at what nearly happened to Potter and his gang. Sure, they were stupid and gullible enough to charge head-first into the Department of Mysteries and duel the Death Eaters, but they could just as well have been attacked at school."  
  
Due to some unspoken agreement, we never mentioned that Draco's father was a Death Eater. We all knew he didn't want to be one, so we let it lie. Reminding someone that his father's a murderer isn't the best way to ensure friendship.  
  
"Besides," I continued, since I was staring to work myself up over the subject, "we should by all rights have been in more danger than Potter ever was. Slytherins are by default closer to Voldemort and the centre of danger at all times, and last year was no different. And even without the Slytherin House's connection to Voldemort, there was still Umbridge to consider, and that was someone worthy of being given holy hell in a hand basket."  
  
I grimaced. It was hard to put my feelings into words, since there was no one word in the world, English or otherwise, strong enough to describe the utter loathing I held for Dolores Jane Umbridge. I shuddered as I remembered the two night's worth of detention I had had with her. If anyone ever says that doing lines isn't a hard enough punishment, I'll strangle them slowly. I've got the scars to prove them wrong.  
  
"Yeah, but still, she didn't punish Slytherin as hard as Gryffindor, did she?" Pansy commented, from where she was lying on the grass, looking up at the cloudless sky.  
  
I was about to ask whether she had hid in a closet last year or not, when I remembered that I never told them about what I had to do on my detentions. All they knew was that she'd made Potter do lines that carved into the back of his hand, not that I had had to do the same. I decided they had to know, since underestimating someone like Umbridge, who still held a high position in the Ministry could be dangerous.  
  
Silently, I pulled off the leather Quidditch gloves I was wearing and showed them the scars on the back of my hands, where the words ´I shall not deceive´ were carved in, mark that I would bear for the rest of my life. Draco raised an eyebrow, and Millicent went as far as grabbing my wrist to see more closely. It was nice to know that I had friends who cared.  
  
"Bloody hell, Blaise, why didn't you tell us?" Draco breathed.  
  
He seemed upset that his own House had been touched by the horrible Umbridge. I guess I would as well, were I him. It's kind of frightening to know that something you've believed to be untouchable for your whole life turns out to be just as much of a target as everything else.  
  
"I just didn't." I shrugged, "There was nothing to tell really. Yes, Umbridge made me do lines that cut into my hand and gave me scars, but we all have them. We have contests about who has the most bruises after summer break. We know what it's like to get hurt by parents, friends, ourselves. I've been stupid enough to give myself some scars, so one given by some old Ministry museum-artefact isn't going to make a difference."  
  
Millicent shot me a look. Up until now, she was the only one who knew I'd cut myself. After fourth year and Cedric Diggory's murder, I'd fallen into a depression. It wasn't a time I liked to remember; I'd fought with my parents, I'd distanced myself from my family and even hated my little sister. And late at night, when I knew no one would be awake, I'd stolen my father's razors and tried to cut my wrists. I don't know why I did it, if there even was a reason, but I'll have three thin lines across my left wrist till I die.  
  
Millicent had stumbled upon me in the bathroom back at school, at the beginning of fifth year, while I was attempting to kill myself. I'll never forget that night. We spent it sitting on the bathroom floor, talking about everything. Well, it was mainly I who was talking; Millicent listened. If I close my eyes and concentrate, I can still feel the cold wall against my back.  
  
"You should have told us Blaise." Pansy said looking a bit insulted I hadn't.  
  
"I told you. Right now. But it doesn't matter anymore. What matters is our upcoming plot." I shrugged again.  
  
We began talking about the Warrington-Li plot, but I found I couldn't concentrate. Thinking about my depression only makes me depressed, if that makes any sense. I'm not the same person I was before it happened. I'm more of a cynic, more of a realist and colder than I was. I've grown up, and I'm not proud of it.  
  
I'm not a nice person. Slytherins don't do nice. We do better than anyone else, but we do not do nice. I put on a deliberate cheerful facade, because people think I'm not as smart as the other Slytherins , but I am. I'm not nice, I'm not cheerful, and I'm not friendly. I'm conniving, moody and hostile. The only difference between me and a normal Slytherin is that I am smart enough not to show it. But I don't know for how much longer I can keep up the appearances. Already, it's starting to crumble, and it feels like I'm tethering on the edge of falling, and there'll be nothing to catch me when I hit the ground. I can almost hear my bones crunching already. Maybe I should just become a wholehearted bastard and save myself the effort.  
  
Heh. It'd be fun to see their faces when I come back to school, no longer the nondescript cheerful boy in the corner, but the guy who bites back, just as hard. I'll show them that I've got claws, and I'm going to use them. Being a nice boy never suited me anyway. Boredom seldom does. Besides, being cold will reduce the amount of people that might get harmed if I befriend them. War is a terrible thing.  
  
*******'  
  
Ending Notes; and my wonderful ability to ramble on about absolutely nothing strikes again. Hope you don't mind. Damn, I wish there were proper smilies I could put in a Word-document... 


	3. The Spinning Coin

Another chapter. The quote doesn't quite fit but hey, it isn't easy to find enough poems for these chapters......  
  
There's no BZ/HG action in this chapter, nor will there be for the rest of the fic. This might sound strange to some of you, but those of you who either know me from FictionAlley or have read my previous fics, know that this is my favourite pairing. But don't worry; I've got a full two parts, each at well over 15 chapters to get them going.  
  
******'  
  
It's all a bit blurry  
  
And I can't quite see  
  
Which roads to take  
  
To make it out.  
  
-Rini  
  
******'  
  
Usually, summer is spent lazing away at the lake, swimming and just generally being calm and happy. This summer, however, was different. Only three weeks into it, Pansy Parkinson's future life could very well be decided, and it could change at the drop of a coin. And we were the ones who dropped that spinning coin.  
  
******'  
  
I straightened my robes, trying for perfection but not getting there. It was kind of like aiming at the stars and falling in the gutter. I always look like I've just walked through a gale, no matter how much I try to groom myself. I might as well give up. Come to think of it, I kind of look like Potter when it comes to my hair. That's another good reason for suicide. I smiled a little to myself as I made one last attempt to look presentable, and gave up halfway.  
  
I gazed at my miserable reflection for a moment. I was wearing the Zabini family's formal robes. They're simple, really; a black waistcoat with silver trimmings, black trousers and a long black robe over it all, with the Zabini shield and motto on the shoulder; a snake twisted around an hourglass, with the words, in good old English, "Freedom is not the right to do as we please, but the liberty to do as we ought." Reflects our dedication to duty, I guess. I think it's a Muggle saying, originally, but the family are the only ones to know and we do well not to tell anyone. I'm suicidal, not homicidal.  
  
I straightened the blue tie that went with the outfit, and headed for the door. I don't know why the tie is blue, since it's a Ravenclaw colour and my family has been in Slytherin for at least twenty generations, but I guess that's just the way things are. Thank all holy it isn't red, or I wouldn't even consider putting it on. I can't even imagine walking around in Gryffindor colours. There's something to be said for House loyalty.  
  
Millicent was standing at the foot of the stairs, waiting for me. She was wearing that same self-ironic smile she had had during the Yule Ball in fourth year. I smiled back, because I knew why. She's not a beautiful girl, she never has been and she never will be. Putting formal dress robes with all their frills (at least on the female ones) and all the bright colours on her seems rather like dressing up an old rag-doll in the clothes of a porcelain version of the same thing. The clothes might look great and all, but still rather out of place. I offered my arm and she took it.  
  
Pansy was, of course, already down-stairs waiting for Warrington, and Draco was keeping her company, so I and Millicent were stuck with each other. I didn't mind, we usually are. Draco goes with Pansy, and the ugly people, meaning me and Millicent are stuck together. It could be worse; it could have been Daphne Greengrass, for all that she is a Slytherin, the girl is frightingly dumb some times. And Millicent could have gotten stuck with Malcolm Baddock, who's just as clueless.  
  
"Warrington here yet?" I questioned.  
  
"Nope. I don't think so; Mrs Parkinson's upset about it, I heard." Millicent shrugged.  
  
"Rightfully. Her daughter is getting married to a man she doesn't know, and he doesn't even show up at the dinner-party. Insulting." I grinned.  
  
Millicent's only reply was a snort, as we entered the dining room. I stopped for a moment to localize the drinks table, which would be where I would be spending most of the night. I always do; my date to the Yule Ball had been a pitcher of Pumpkin Juice. It made for really interesting conversation, that one. I saw it in a corner, and ignored it for the time being. The first objective was to find Pansy and Draco. They were standing near the other end of the room, Pansy with her parents and Draco with his former team-mate Marcus Flint.  
  
I've always liked Marcus Flint. Not so much because he was a Slytherin or our Quidditch Captain, but because he's so predictable. You can always tell what he's going to say, or what he's going to do, because he's said it and done it a hundred times before. It is that kind of person that's easy to work with, and he is part of the reason why Slytherin didn't win the Cup while he was captain.  
  
"Hey, Draco." I said, stepping up beside them.  
  
"Hey, Blaise. We were just discussing Slytherin's chances of winning the cup." Draco smiled.  
  
"Slim," I said, shrugging, "Slim, but we could certainly do it. We've got to get ourselves some good Chasers, though."  
  
"Yeah; I've already got my plans on Ivanovich as a Beater." Draco replied, getting into his favourite subject.  
  
"Ivanovich? He'd be in fourth now, wouldn't he?" Flint stepped in.  
  
I smirked to myself and wandered off. Draco could talk for hours about Quidditch, and he might as well do it with someone likeminded. Don't get me wrong, I like the game, I'm just not fanatic. I'd like to become a Chaser, but it wouldn't be end-all of my existence if I don't. I enjoy flying and the over-discipline of Quidditch tactics takes away some of that freedom I feel. I moved on to where Pansy and Millicent were standing, glancing at the door every now and then. I was going to position myself in the corner for another reason as well; from there, I could see almost all of the hallway, as well as the dining room itself, and when the dinner-part was under way, I would be able to watch everyone. Dinner-party is a little misleading, however; it's more of a formal ball with dinner than anything else. And Mrs Parkinson can't resist showing off, so she has them every once in a while.  
  
I nodded to the girls as I passed, and settled down on the drinks table with a glass of what appeared to be Pumpkin Juice but which actually water, in my hand. I think I am the only person in the universe who can get sloshed on Pumpkin Juice, which is the main reason to why I don't drink it often and why I brought a pitcher to the Yule Ball. The strange thing is, I can take stronger things than the Pumpkin Juice, just not the thing itself. Yeah, I know it's completely screwed sideways, but that's the way I am.  
  
From my seat on the table, I watched everyone in the room. There really were a lot of people, even for one of the Parkinson's famous or infamous dinner-parties. There was Zarias Bletchley by the doorway, talking Quidditch to his best friend and fellow-Quidditch enthusiast Thomas Bole, both former members of the Slytherin Quidditch team. There was Montague with his parents, still looking confused after the Weasley-induced "accident" which left him in the hospital wing for weeks. He's not coming back this year; his brains are permanently damaged. House loyalty aside, I've got to admit it was pretty funny of the Weasley Twins.  
  
Taking a swig of my water, I started a tally in my head for which House the guests belonged to. Not surprisingly, there were most Slytherins, closely followed by Ravenclaws, one or two Hufflepuffs, but not one Gryffindor in sight. I was relieved at that; I didn't want some nosy Gryffindor come along and steal the show for us, not when it was about something this important.  
  
I glanced up and to my surprise, Hogwarts most renowned Professor, Severus Snape, had just entered. He was looking just as glum and sullen as he always did, but that's my uncle in a nutshell. Yep, my uncle. All Purebloods are interrelated, and he's my mother's cousin's cousin, I think. It might be more complicated than that, but we've always simplified it to ´uncle´. Never addressed him as such at school though; it would have lost Slytherin more House points than I can count. We'd still be in negatives by the time my great grandchildren graduate. If I ever get any, but that's beside the point. Snape is the most anti-family person I've ever met. I bet he wasn't even nice to his grandmother. Not that he has one, mind you. I think he crawled out from under some damp rock.  
  
He immediately went over to talk to Narcissa Malfoy, Draco's mother. She's nice, in a way. While Lucius was still free, she was a cold hearted bitch, to tell the truth, but she's mellowed out since his capture a few weeks ago. That's what Draco tells me, at any rate. Apparently she's pretty chummy with my dear uncle, seeing as she hugged him. I grinned. If I'd known there was someone who hugged Professor Snape without his complaining, Potions class would have been a lot easier these past five years. Come to think of it, it'll make for good distraction when he's yelling at me next year. I'll just picture him with Narcissa Malfoy, looking embarrassed or something. Haha, blackmail fodder!  
  
"Heh. I like being Slytherin." I mumbled to myself.  
  
"Then you're in good company." Someone beside me said.  
  
I didn't jump. I knew there was someone close by, had that prickly feeling of being watched, and I had a fair idea of who it was as well. One glance around the room confirmed it, and I grinned a little.  
  
"Hello, Cassius." I said.  
  
Indeed, turning my head, I set eyes on Cassius Warrington's brown hair and green eyes. Never mind that he isn't a nice person, he's pretty smart and can hold a decent conversation. He'd helped me once when he caught me outside the Slytherin Common Room, having forgotten the password. He gave it to me and kept quiet. Best damn Head Boy Hogwarts ever had.  
  
"Hello. Enjoying your date with the Pumpkin Juice?" He asked, grinning a bit.  
  
We're not good friends. No one is ´good friends´ with Cassius Warrington, but even though he's evil by association, he tolerates other Slytherins and even some Ravenclaws. Which only served to improve our chances of succeeding in our spur-of-the-moment plan. I am allowed to use his first name because my father is an old friend of his parents. Or something to that degree.  
  
"Nay. 'Tis water." I answered, holding up my glass.  
  
"Figures. How's the rest of it then?" He asked, looking out over the room.  
  
"Alright." I shrugged, running a hand through my already dishevelled hair.  
  
Millicent caught my eye and twirled a lock of her hair around her finger, and I sighed. No arrival of Su Li yet, then. I'd entrusted the signal code only to Millicent, since I knew she wouldn't have too many other things to think of during the evening. If she'd straightened her dress, it would mean Li would have been here. Too bad. Well, we had all evening.  
  
"Why are you keeping me and the Pumpkin Juice a little company Cassius? Aren't you here to meet Pansy?" I asked.  
  
"Yes," He sighed. Boy did he look suffering, "but I'm not sure how to."  
  
"Get out of it?" I finished for him, "I see your point. You barely know Pansy, and no offence, but I don't think she wants to be here either."  
  
"Really." Cassius mumbled and took a swig of what looked like Firewhiskey.  
  
I kept silent and drank my water. I didn't really know where to go from here. Before the party, everything had been so clear, but now I seemed to have messed up somewhere. Oh well, I'd figure it out and change it after dinner; I was getting hungry. Hopefully, there would be chocolate pastries for dessert. I used to dream about chocolate, and snuck down to the kitchens more than once to steal some chocolate. I'm not an addict, honestly. I just happen to enjoy chocolate very much. It's not like it's stealing anyway when the House Elves practically drop it in my lap every time I as much as ask.  
  
"Stop drooling; you're embarrassing yourself." Cassius mumbled.  
  
"I'm not drooling." I protested, "I'm thinking."  
  
"So your brain shuts down the other functions of your body while you're thinking? And they call you intelligent." Cassius grinned.  
  
"I was concentrating on chocolate, I'll have you know, and my brain can only take so much before it is forced to shut down in favour of my saliva glands." I grinned, before heading off towards the dining table, where everyone was gravitating.  
  
Millicent straightened her dress as I came closer, and I grinned widely. Li had arrived. Phase one of the Ultimate Marriage Plan was over and the second one would have to wait until after dinner. Right now, chocolate was the first order of business.  
  
******'  
  
Dinner was over fairly quickly, and I had managed to talk a little to Su Li, although I mentioned nothing about our plan. She's a pretty girl, Li, and looked absolutely stunning in those blue robes of hers. Too bad she's going to be Cassius', not that I'd have a chance even if she wasn't. Bah, I'm ugly, too tall and too intelligent for my own good, and addicted to chocolate to boot. Great Slytherin I make. I can't even keep from whining in my own thoughts. Pathetic, isn't it? But that's beside the point; Li's good looking, I'm not, end of story.  
  
After the dinner, which was rather different from the usual Parkinson ones, in as much as we were allowed to speak at the dinner table, I went out in the garden. I needed some time to re-plan my moves, and I did so the best when I was alone. I found myself a handy garden wall to lean against and watched the moon rising; not full yet, but somewhere out in the world, my old Defence teacher Lupin was feeling pretty bad. Werewolves always did that the days before a transformation.  
  
I reached into the pocket of my too fancy robes, and pulled out a Muggle cigarette. I know I'm not supposed to smoke at fifteen, or even after that, but I did and had since the last few weeks of the summer after fourth year. It calmed my nerves and helped me think, which always made for good distraction when trying to concentrate on something else than the razor blades. Either way, I lit it with a quick spell and let my thoughts drift. I'm not supposed to do magic over summer, but allowances has always been a little less restricted in magical homes than in Muggle ones.  
  
I needed to find out whether Cassius really intended to marry Pansy or not, and if he did I needed to know whether he could be talked out of it or not. And then I'd like to find out if Su Li could wrap her mind around being set up with Cassius at all. Of course, being Ravenclaw, she'd understand if I explained the plan to her, but if I did there was the possibility that she might tell someone else, like Cassius, and from what I've learned of him, he does not appreciate being tricked into anything. I sighed and took a deep breath. It was going to be a long evening, and an even longer summer, unless I figured out a way to get us out of the mess I've made.  
  
"Do you have another of those?"  
  
I lifted my head to see Cassius beside me. He was looking like he'd run straight through the Third Task, fought a fully grown Hebridean Black, and duelled Voldemort without taking a breather in between. Shortly, like he'd had a verbal battle with Mrs Parkinson and gotten out alive. I grinned slightly; a man, who'd been through that, would have no fears in life. Pulling out another cigarette from my pocket, I handed it to him with a wider grin.  
  
"My last. You look like you need it." I said.  
  
He raised an eyebrow but took it. Apparently, he hadn't noticed that it was me. He took the cigarette however, and lit it, leaning against the wall, which was covered in some sort of rosebush, and together we smoked in silence. At least for a while, before Cassius cleared his throat.  
  
"No offence or anything, but I don't think I can marry Pansy." He stated.  
  
I refrained for jumping up and down and shouting in glee, and instead looked at him out of the corner of my eye, curiously. Surely, Pansy couldn't be that bad, could she? I mean, she can whine just as much as the next person, but the next person is Draco, it doesn't really prove much. However, I didn't really think Pansy had a chance to say much of anything, what with her mother being there the whole time.  
  
"Why?" I asked.  
  
"There's nothing wrong with Pansy, I'm sure she's a great girl, but her mother is just too much." He sighed, "I've never met such a stuck up woman."  
  
"Ah."  
  
Well, that was just about everything I could say. Mrs Parkinson is a horrible woman, and I can't for the life of me understand why probably- William would ever have wanted to marry her. She has no personality, and frankly, the curtains aren't a very interesting topic of conversation, which she seemed to have failed to grasp. In the background, I could still hear Cassius talking, but the wheels in my head were already whirring at top speed, so they drowned him out.  
  
I could somehow get Cassius to realize he didn't have to marry Pansy if he had a "girlfriend", which I was sure I could find if necessary. I'd talked to Su Li and mentioned Cassius and she hadn't seemed all too cold towards him. Of course, Cassius is a good looking man, and has never had trouble with getting girls. He had trouble keeping them, but that's another matter entirely. There isn't a girl at Hogwarts who hasn't had a crush on Cassius at least once, and he made sure to use that knowledge. Apparently, he can talk very fast about nothing at all when he has to, and he is the winner of Hogwarts Prize for Master Makers of Empty Promises. Not that the title exists, but if it did, he'd be champion. He was the heartthrob of Hogwarts before he graduated, and it wouldn't surprise me if he wasn't still. It pays off to eavesdrop sometimes. I grinned as a plan began to form in my mind.  
  
"Wait," I interrupted Cassius' explanation, "I know a way out of this."  
  
"And what's that?" He asked.  
  
"We'll have to find someone who's prepared to act as your girlfriend so that you can blame everything on that relationship and get out without hurting too many feelings." I said, "All we have to do is find the right girl."  
  
At that moment, Li stepped into the garden, coming from the house. She was looking heartily bored with life in general and the Parkinson party in particular, and sat down on one of the stone benches. She played a little with her dress robes, staring absently at her feet, and seeing her made me grin like an idiot. Now was my big chance.  
  
"And there she is." I said, waving my hand towards her.  
  
"Uh, I recognize her, but I can't remember the name." Cassius squinted at her.  
  
"Su Li. Ravenclaw. In my year. Bright girl got her head on straight and knows what she's doing. Her parents are rich and she's good looking to boot. Quite a catch." I grinned.  
  
"I'm not sure..." Cassius trailed off, looking uncertain.  
  
"Scared she'll reject you, Cassius?" I had to bite back a howl of laughter at his horrified expression  
  
Not that anyone has ever rejected him before. He's been able to get any girl he ever wanted, and did so. Not like me, who has never had a girlfriend and when I finally get one, it will probably only last until she's recovered from her visual hindrances and seen my ugly face. No girl would ever want me after that shock, I tell you. Even my mother dislikes my appearance, and that's saying something, since every mother is supposed to say their child is beautiful. No I'm not bitter; stop looking at me like that.  
  
"No way." He muttered, gritting his teeth together. "But we'll have to tell her about the plan."  
  
"Go on then. You're the eloquent one; I'm only the one with the brain."  
  
He threw me one last lethal glare before heading off towards the pretty Ravenclaw. I watched as he sat down next to her and began to talk quickly. I'm surprised she didn't fall off the bench drooling, since apparently that's what most girls do when they're addressed by the star Chaser of Falmouth Falcons. She had this disbelieving look on her face, mixed with what looked like amusement. I had to hold back laughter again; Cassius was used to girls drooling at his heels. Su Li would prove a refreshing difference.  
  
I left them to it, knowing that Cassius could handle it. He always does; there's a reason he was Head Boy. I headed off towards the lake instead. One of my famous thinking moments was heading my way, and I knew it would be better if I handled it alone. I always get these deep thoughts after having succeeded in some part of my plans.  
  
******'  
  
Ending Notes; this chapter is a little shorter than the others, but please don't kill me for it. 


	4. A Green and Silver Soul

The review count is slowly increasing; thank you so much! I really, really appreciate it! I was unsure if this fic was as good as it seemed, but you've rid me of my doubts. Thanks again.  
  
You might have noticed, and I assume that you have since none of you are particularly dense in my opinion, that I have started each chapter with a poem. I'm going to do so with the rest of the chapters as well, and I will give credit to the one who wrote the piece, to each and every one. This one belongs to Yumi on fictionpress.com.  
  
******'  
  
"No, I didn't think it would come to this  
  
I abuse the tang of steel  
  
To remember I'm alive  
  
That's so sensible"  
  
- Yumi  
  
******'  
  
Plupp.  
  
That's the only way I can describe the sound that a stone makes when thrown in a lake or a sea. It doesn't splash, it doesn't plop, it plupps. I know the word doesn't exist, but one of those words which sound like the sound they make. I can't remember what they're called, but that's what it is, and who cares whether is actually exists or not? You understood what I meant, so that makes it a word. The reason for my long and detailed debate on the word ´plupp´ is that I was sitting on a rock near the edge of the lake, throwing stones in the water. Stone throwing is a highly underrated activity.  
  
I'd gone to the lake to give Li and Cassius some privacy, and I didn't want to go back inside because I really don't like crowds. Especially not crowds which include Mrs Parkinson and horror of horrors, Professor Snape, my loving uncle. He ought to be given some kind of medal, proclaiming him as the Archbishop of Cruel and Nasty. But either way, I was sitting at the lake, minding my own business. I'm good at minding my own business. It's getting others to mind theirs that's the real problem. They always seem to see me as some mentally deficient nice boy who needs help, but I'm not. I'm not nice. I don't even know how to fake nice. I don't even know how to fake faking nice. I'm incompetent in all areas of being nice.  
  
I'm a Slytherin. I follow the motto ´Beauty might be only skin deep, but attitude runs to the bone´. If someone cut me in half, my body would be green and silver straight through. I'd have ´les-Vert-et-Argents´ written across my bones. Of course, had I been wholly English, it would have been ´the-Green-and-Silver´ but seeing as my mother is part French and speaks French on a daily basis, it would have been French. I'm sure of it. I'm so Slytherin it isn't even funny. You could paint me red and gold, I'd still be Slytherin. The bottom line is that Slytherins aren't your every day happy students.  
  
Slytherin is not only the House that turns out most Dark Wizards. We have the highest suicide rate as well. I think I know why. We're blamed for everything, whether we did it or not. They don't give a damn if we're responsible for it, we're blamed anyway, so many of us feel that we might as well just go ahead and do it anyway, since we're going to get the blame. We don't do it because we think it's fun to see others lives ruined. We don't do it to mess with other people's heads. We do it because that's what the other Houses think we do, and since we can't change their opinion, we might as well just not try. It's useless.  
  
I curled up with my knees drawn up and my arms around them, the water glass lying forgotten on the ground. It is just like me to become depressed at the wrong moment. But this time it was at least relevant. Last summer I would have cut my wrists over a broken plate. I was so emotionally unstable even I was afraid of me at times. I was literally standing on the edge, looking down into the abyss, and it waved back at me. I honestly took out the razor and looked at it, trying to decide the best way to kill myself, the fastest way to bleed, imagining the blood. But somehow, I didn't have the nerve to do it. I'd cut myself, relishing in the blood, but I've only been close to dying once, and then it was Millicent who pulled out her wand and healed me.  
  
I hated her then. I'd wanted to die, to be rid of all fear and trouble, but she wouldn't let me. She refused to leave me alone even for a moment. She damn near even kept watch in my dorm to stop me from killing myself. It drove me crazy. Sometimes, I wanted to kill her, sometimes, I was grateful for what she did, although I didn't know why she did it. Up until then we'd been friends, but not the kind of friends that'd go through fire for each other. I asked her about it after a week of this constant surveillance, and she answered simply and plainly.  
  
"Because no one deserves to die like that; alone on a bathroom floor. Not even a Slytherin."  
  
´Not even a Slytherin´. Those words echoed in my mind for a long time, and continue to resound even today. She put the repulsion the other Houses hold for Slytherin into one simple sentence. She doesn't believe it of course; that Slytherin should be any worse than the other Houses, but she knows that's what others think and believe. I realized then that I had to prove them wrong. I had to prove that Slytherin could do everything Gryffindor can, and better. Of course, I kept the idea hidden, since many Slytherins were talking so rabidly about joining Voldemort and how great his ideas were. But Millicent somehow guessed, and said I had the right idea, although she was sure even I would never succeed. Hell, I have my doubts about it too.  
  
One day I want to be nobody's fool. I want to be able to walk down the corridor, head held high, no one glaring at me because of the colours I wear. I want to be able to live my own life without people spitting on me, kicking me, thinking that I'm disgusting. They think we can't hear them, but even whispers carry a long way. The lie about us, they lie all the time. And a lie can run around the world before the truth has got its boots on. I can hear them, all the time, and sooner or later, whatever they say is going to reach my ears. And when it does, I won't be forgiving. I'll kick right back, and my aim is a damn sight better than theirs.  
  
I laid back and looked up at the stars. There wasn't a cloud in sight, and the night was so clear you could see each and every one of them. A perfect night to fly. I hoisted myself up on my elbows and pulled out my wand; I needed my broom to fly, but I wasn't up to walking to the broom-shed on the other side of the grounds.  
  
"Accio Silverarrow." I said.  
  
I watched as the broom came zooming across the ground, some six inches up in the air. I caught it and mounted. The Silverarrow is an old broom, but in my opinion it's better than any other broomstick today. Madame Hooch learned to fly on one of these, and she never takes anything but the best. The Nimbus might be fast and the Firebolt might be the easiest to handle, but there isn't a broom built today that has the reliability and speed combined that the Silverarrow has. I adore my broom. Does it show?  
  
I rose up so high that I could see the Parkinson estate, Quidditch pitch and all. Then I rose even higher, so high that I was having difficulties to breathe. Foolish of me, I know, but everyone's entitled to be a fool sometimes. I just happen to abuse the privilege. It's one of my many flaws, which I usually hide from the world. It's better that way.  
  
I flew across the grounds until I was directly above the garden, and looked down. I grinned, seeing Li and Cassius still sitting there. They'd been alone for maybe fifteen minutes, and if she still hadn't hit him, things were going well. And since he had insisted on telling her the plan, it meant I didn't know him as well as I thought I did. The Cassius I'd known back in his school days wouldn't have hesitated to trick Li into believing he truly cared for her only to get out of a marriage. Apparently, playing for the Falcons and living in the real world had changed him. For the better, or so I hoped.  
  
I turned around and headed off towards the other side of the house, touching down on the lawn in front of the door. I sent the broom back to the shed and headed inside again. I needed to find Millicent to tell her about Li and Cassius.  
  
*******'  
  
I came into the dining room, walked to the stairs and sat on the rail, sliding down. I've never been very formal, the contrary in fact, and sliding down the rail is something I'm expected to do, so no one took notice, except maybe Snape and Mrs Parkinson, who both looked at me, displeased. I ignored them; I didn't have to care about what they thought about me. I had to find Millicent.  
  
She had taken my post at the drinks table, and was sipping Pumpkin Juice with a bored expression on her face. Maybe my news would cheer her up a bit, knowing that our plans had partly succeeded. I sat myself down on the table and grinned at her.  
  
"Hello there, my lady." I said, causing her to glare at me.  
  
"I'm not a lady, Blaise." She muttered.  
  
"And thank god for that." I said, raising an empty glass. "By the way, the Falcon and Raven are out in the garden, getting quite cosy."  
  
"Codenames are silly, but oh so useful." Millicent sighed, "Cosy you say? In what way?"  
  
"Cassius didn't want her to get into this without knowing the plan, so he's out there explaining it to her. At least he was when I left them, which was some half hour ago." I smiled.  
  
"Ah. Mrs Parkinson nearly had a seizure when I tried to break into her conversation with our dear ex-Head Boy. Feared for my life, I did. Hopefully, he will get all of us out of this." Millicent leaned back, observing everyone.  
  
"Are you saying I can't?" I asked, a little annoyed.  
  
"And they say you aren't smart. That's exactly what I'm saying." Millicent grinned.  
  
"Your faith in me is astounding, Millie." I muttered, sipping another glass of water.  
  
She mumbled something I didn't quite catch, but it didn't matter as Cassius and Li just entered, hand in hand. I nearly jumped up and danced; our plan was under way. I settled back to watch everyone's reaction to the new developments.  
  
The whole dining room was silent. You could have heard a pin drop, and it would have echoed. Mrs Parkinson was slowly turning an interesting shade of red, and even the usually unmovable Mr Parkinson raised an eyebrow. Pansy herself dropped her jaw, and Snape, who couldn't care less, looked a little surprised, but masked it quickly. Almost as soon as silence had descended, the whispers started up. I heard someone to the left of me whisper "The nerve of him!", and I grinned widely. If only Cassius could talk himself out of this, they'd be out of trouble in no time.  
  
Li blushed as Cassius whispered something in her ear, and the look on Cassius face made me wonder if they were actually faking this or not. He actually looked happy, something I'd never seen him do. They walked down the stairs and up to the Parkinson family. Draco was hovering behind Pansy, looked worried, more so than I'd ever seen him. Not even when Potter appeared on the Quidditch pitch, Diggory's dead body in his arms, babbling about Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy. He had a reason this time; if anything went wrong, he would never have a chance with Pansy.  
  
"What is going on here?" Mrs Parkinson screeched.  
  
"Maybe we should hear him out before shouting, dear." Mr probably-William Parkinson said.  
  
"Thank you sir." Cassius said. "I believe my parents has mistakenly said something to you, promised you something they couldn't hold, something I couldn't hold. Apparently you have been misled to believe I could marry your daughter."  
  
"Misled?" Mrs Parkinson asked, aghast  
  
"Yes. I cannot possibly marry your daughter. I am too much in love with my girlfriend." Here he gestured to Li. "Since my parents do not meddle in my love life, except for this one time, they had no idea she even existed."  
  
I raised my eyebrows. I had no idea that Cassius was such a good actor. He looked sincere, he sounded sincere, and he was clutching Li's hand as if it was his life line, looking for the world as if he worshipped her. And Li herself was looking quite happy being Cassius' centre of attention. Maybe this was going to be more than a one-time emergency thing. Maybe this was the beginning of a relationship. Maybe I should take up matchmaking after I graduate. This was definitely my best plan yet. Sometimes I wonder if there isn't someone up there watching me, helping my plans, and frequently laughing his arse off. It would make perfect sense.  
  
I got to my feet, and followed by Millicent, made my way across the floor to the Parkinson family. I didn't intend to say nor do anything, as Cassius was handling it beautifully, but if it got out of hand, I should be close to steer off any trouble. Mrs Parkinson was looking like she'd have a seizure at any second, while her husband just looked mildly interested. Sometimes, I wonder about that man. Does he have any other emotion than perfect calm? If he has, he's just as good an actor as Cassius is. As we approached them, he turned to look at us, and winked, making me hesitate for a moment. He knows. He knows what we're trying to do. I smiled back quickly, and turned my attention to Cassius and Li, who were still looking like demented Hufflepuffs. It frightened me; it really did. If I ever fall in love, I promise myself I won't become like that. Never.  
  
"What does this mean?" Mrs Parkinson whimpered. "I don't understand."  
  
"It means, dear, that we'll have to find our daughter a new fiancé, but I'd really rather we'd wait for a couple of years. Until she's graduated, at the very least." Her husband said brightly.  
  
"But, but." Mrs Parkinson stammered.  
  
I grinned as I watched Draco and Pansy holding hands behind her back. I did however send them a warning look; it would not look good for them to be all nice and cosy after Pansy's would-have-been fiancé had just dumped her. They immediately let go, but I'm sure a few guest caught it. That was not good.  
  
Either way, I wandered off, letting them take care of themselves. I needed to get to bed; it was getting late and I'd been more or less living off my nerves since breakfast. Right now, the floor was looking like a very inviting bed, and as much as I'd like spending my night on the dining room floor, my bed sounded like a better idea, since I didn't want a backache. Backaches are bad. Backaches are evil. Sleep is good.  
  
******'  
  
I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, and I didn't wake up until noon the day after. Strangely, I was allowed to wake up by myself, without help from annoyingly awake friends, and after pulling on a pair of faded black jeans and a green shirt, I headed down the stairs to see what the heck was going on. It was too quiet for something to be not going on. It was getting me nervous, and I don't like being nervous; it makes me want to bite something. Unfortunately, that something is more often than not my own lip, which has split more times than I can count. Pathetic really, but that's me.  
  
I entered the dining room, and snatched a cup of coffee which probably belonged to someone else, and headed out again, towards the front door. I knew the Parkinson's bedroom was upstairs, but I'd never even think about going there, and it was too late for Millicent to still be sleeping. Freaky. Hopefully, nothing was wrong. Maybe they were just oversleeping. Maybe they were outside all of them. I snorted to myself. Oh yes, and maybe they had been eaten by the giant slug that lives in the dungeons. The one with purple polka-dots.  
  
There was no one on the ground either, and by now I was starting to get annoyed. I gave up searching for everyone and went inside again. If they wanted to play hide and seek, they could damn well notify me first, and I could always find them later. I needed to get started on my summer assignments anyway. The Potions essay this year was a killer. Six bloody feet on the uses of Moonstone in Healing potions and how it was connected to the common blue bell-plant of Sweden. I knew some of it of course, but by no means all. And I really, really needed to visit the Parkinson's library. It might not be the Hogwarts library, but it was worth a check, since Pansy's father worked with something that had to do with Potions, and would have a few textbooks at home.  
  
I sat down in one of those ridiculously overstuffed chairs, grabbing a book, a piece of parchment and a quill. I turned to the page about Moonstones, and started to take notes. I'm smart. I know I am and I don't mess around trying to hide it. The only reason I wasn't placed in Ravenclaw is that I put on the Sorting Hat and imagined how good I'd do in Ravenclaw, how much fame I'd get by making up new spells. That show of egoism landed me in Slytherin, and I can't say I'm unhappy about it. It's a good House, one I'm proud to be a member of, but what really gets me though, is how other people treat us. But I won't get into that now. I've got an essay to write, and I better get cracking if I want it done before I turn fifty.  
  
"Moonstones are used in healing potions of all kinds." I muttered as I wrote, "And can also be used to create a powerful strengthening solution."  
  
The quill scribbles across the paper with a dry, scratching sound, which reminds me of the cracking of dry leaves. But I digress. A bad habit of mine, which I can't seem to get rid of, no matter how hard I try. Maybe I'm just born to digress. Who knows?  
  
I'm average at Potions. I've got an A in it, both practical and theoretical, but it's good enough for me. But I'd be damned if I gave up on because I didn't have the highest grades. Snape may favour Slytherins outrageously, but he won't let them pass without making an effort to learn something. Look at Longbottom; he makes an effort and exceeds expectations just by showing up for class and not passing out in fear. That's probably why he made it to fifth year Potions. I on the other hand, am surprised Weasley did. He falls asleep in class, fails to turn in his homework on time and when he finally does, it's misspelled and too short.  
  
Now, Defence and Charms are another matter. I've always excelled at Defence, and last year, when Umbridge didn't let us practise curses, Potter rounded up a group of Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs and practised curses in some abandoned class room, but we Slytherins went another way. We broke into the Restricted Section and filched some Defence books, and smuggled them to the Snake's Nest and practised the curses on each other. Sure, we ended up in the hospital wing many times that year, but we learned those god damned curses well alright. They're practically ingrained in my spine. Charms was better of course. Flitwick knew that we needed to know the charms to make it through both fifth year and this damned war.  
  
O.W.L's were a frickin' nightmare. We've all heard the stories about Patricia Stimpson and Kenneth Towler, and believe me, after the O.W.L-week, we knew they were nothing but the absolute truth. I think Millicent and I were the only students in our year that made it through without having to visit the hospital wing or have crisis meetings with friends or family. Nope, not us; we were the ones selling and distributing the drugs that were circling around Hogwarts. We were good. Damn good. Snape did a raid in our dorms, looking for who had been selling it, but we'd caught wind of it and got the drugs out before he came in. Slytherins are devious, cunning and outright backstabbing, but we're good. We know what we're doing.  
  
"Blaise?"  
  
I turned my head and saw Millicent standing in the doorway, one eyebrow raised. She was dressed in what appeared to be a blue dress. Mrs Parkinson must have forced her to wear that. Or her parents; they seemed convinced she was stunningly beautiful, and that she could have any boy she wanted, as long as she dressed up in these ridiculous dresses. Millicent hated it, but put up with it because she didn't want to fight with her parents.  
  
"Millie. What's with the dress?" I asked.  
  
"Mum sent it his morning, and said I had to wear it, and since she and Mrs Parkinson write to each other every day, she'll know if I didn't." Millicent shrugged, "So what're you doing?"  
  
"Writing Snape's essay. The one with the moonstones. I looked for you, where is everyone?" I replied.  
  
She sat down beside me, leaned back and started ticking them off on her fingers. I put down my quill and rubbed my fingers back to life. A thousand years will give you such a crick in the neck. I closed the book and listened to Millicent's explanation.  
  
"Well, Mrs Parkinson decided that this was a good day to go shopping, so she dragged both me and Pansy with her. Draco and Pansy's father tagged along, although they sat on a bench somewhere drinking coffee the whole time, the traitorous bastards. We tried to wake you up, but after dousing you in cold water didn't work, we left you alone." She grinned.  
  
"Cold water? That explains why the pillow was freezing cold when I did wake up." I mumbled. "But you could have left a note."  
  
"We did, Blaise, we did. It was in the middle of the breakfast table." Millicent chuckled.  
  
"Hmm. Well, I just stole a cup of coffee and left, so I didn't see it." I muttered, "Either way, I have to finish this bloody essay before the holidays are over. Are you done already?"  
  
"Nope. I haven't even started. Could you help me?" She asked, looking hopeful, "Snape's essays are always a killer, and this one isn't exactly small."  
  
"Alright, I'll help you, but next time I'm leaving you on your own. If you can't do your homework by yourself, you'll never get anywhere." I said, pulling off my best imitation of my mother's voice.  
  
Millicent snorted and pulled out a quill of her own and snatched one of my parchment rolls before setting to work on her own essay. I smiled slightly, and continued on my own. I was almost done; all I needed to do now was to write some sort of conclusion that I came up with on my own, and to do that I had to read through my essay once again to see what the hell it was I'd written. I'm good at forgetting things, but paradoxically enough, I've got a good memory as well. I'm strange, as previously stated.  
  
When I finished, I pushed the books away and leaned back, closing my eyes. I breathed in the peculiar smell a library has. Old books, dried ink and dust. It's a comforting smell; it reminds me of my home, my own library. One of my first memories is sitting in my father's lap with a heavy book in front of me, following his finger as it glides across the page, reading out loud to me. I was too young to understand what the book was about, but still I listened entranced, because I loved the sight of the black lines on the paper. It seemed as if they held a wonderful secret, a secret I would discover as soon as I learned to read. Slightly corny, I know, but that's the way it was.  
  
I frowned without opening my eyes. I rarely saw my father anymore. While I was at Hogwarts it was only natural I didn't, but even while I was at home he was almost never there. I missed him; he was one of the few people in the world who didn't reject me out of hand, and almost the only one who cared about what happened to me in the future. Millicent, Draco and Pansy didn't care about that, since I would be their friend either way, but my father did, because he wanted the best for his son.  
  
"What's wrong Blaise?" Millicent's voice broke me out of my thoughts.  
  
"Nothing. I'm just thinking about my father." I grimaced.  
  
"Ah. Well, I'm nearly finished and it's long past lunch time, so why don't we go and get something to eat?" She asked.  
  
We rose and walked out of the library to get something to eat, leaving behind an empty chair and several opened books. We would come back later and clean it up, and finish all our essays, but right now, the pressing need for food was more important than a few books.  
  
*******'  
  
Ending Notes; a strange ending, but we will be getting somewhere soon, or so I hope. 


	5. Ordinary Wizarding Levels

17 reviews and counting. And all of them good! I'm amazed; you're so kind to me. I did get one review that I felt I had to reply to, though, but not in a bad way, not at all; it made me think about how I treat my characters, that's all.  
  
Ice Lupus; you asked why I always portrayed Ron and Harry as brain-damaged. I can assure you that it was not even conscious from my side; it's just that in the books, I've gotten the impression that Ron and Harry are several years behind Hermione maturity-wise, I'm sure you know what I talk about. And Hermione condescending? Well, she is superior to them in intelligence, but that's no reason to treat them that way, I know. I just base her on me, because we're alike in many ways; I have friends that I love dearly, but who are a bit slow when it comes to wits, and I often think about them slightly condescendingly, and I don't even notice.  
  
I have Hermione treating them that way, because she has gotten used to them being slower thinkers than she is, and it has now begun to come automatically. And I've always imagined Hermione as treating them condescendingly, but they somehow talk her out of it sometime. I guess I just haven't been able to write it in to my fics yet, although some day I will write a fic that treats them better. I just don't like Harry that much, which is part of the reason why I decided to write from a Slytherin's POV in this. That gives me freedom to bash him as much as I want to, heh. Of course, now that you've made me aware of it completely, I'll try to change it a bit, because it isn't right.  
  
*********'  
  
"So I lash at the ones  
  
The few who give a damn  
  
So I fucked it up  
  
All over again  
  
Because I'm stupid  
  
Crazy  
  
Just a little unwell"  
  
- Too Much, Rini  
  
********'  
  
The days passed like lazy butterflies, time passing slowly by, almost too slow to notice. We joked and laughed; we fought our way through seemingly impossible assignments, and came out victorious. And so came the day when our O.W.L results arrived. The day we'd all been waiting for. And believe me, it was a real nerve-wrecker. We were sitting at the breakfast table, everyone avoiding me as usual, and I was sipping my coffee, when this large, black owl came flying in through the open window. It landed straight in front of me, and held out its leg demandingly.  
  
"Suicidal, aren't you?" Draco asked it, as I glared at it.  
  
It just shook its leg once again, and relenting, I unwrapped the letter. Or letters, as it were. It turned out to be four of them, one for each of us, and I tossed them to their respective owners before opening my own. When I saw what it was, my eyebrows disappeared into my hairline, and I read it through as quickly as I could manage. It was my O.W.L results.  
  
Dear Mr Zabini  
  
We hereby give you your results in the Ordinary Wizarding Levels, a standard magical test, taken by all magical students at the age of fifteen. We are glad to inform you that you are allowed to pass onto your sixth year of schooling at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.  
  
Transfiguration, theoretical; Exceeds Expectations  
  
Transfiguration, practical; Acceptable  
  
Potions, theoretical; Acceptable  
  
Potions, practical; Acceptable  
  
Care of Magical Creatures, theoretical; Exceeds Expectations  
  
Care of Magical Creatures, practical; Acceptable  
  
Astronomy; Exceeds Expectations  
  
Divination, theoretical; Poor  
  
Divination, practical; Poor  
  
History of Magic; Acceptable  
  
Herbology; Acceptable  
  
Arithmancy; Exceeds Expectations  
  
Charms, theoretical; Outstanding  
  
Charms, practical; Outstanding.  
  
Defence Against the Dark Arts, theoretical; Outstanding  
  
Defence Against the Dark Arts, practical; Outstanding  
  
I was, to be honest, shocked out of my formidable wits. I had not only passed on all by the Divination O.W.L's, but I had also received no less than four Outstanding. I noticed Draco and the others staring at me and my wayward jaw, but I couldn't even pull myself together enough to stop gaping. Four O's! I hadn't even expected one. I would have been happy if I got an E in Defence, and here I was with two O's in the same subject. I let out a very unmanly squeak, and nearly dropped the letter in my coffee.  
  
"Blaise? What's wrong? Didn't you pass?" Draco asked. "Don't tell me you of all people didn't pass."  
  
"I..passed." I managed to get out. "I didn't pass Divination, but I passed."  
  
"Hell, who cares about Divination, anyway?" Millicent put in, "Trelawney is an old fraud in any case. Granger was right about at least. But tell us, Blaise, what caused you to go catatonic on us?"  
  
"I got four O's." I choked out, speaking agonizingly slowly.  
  
Anyone outside the dining room would have thought there was a full-scale war going on in there for all the noise they made. Pansy shrieked something incomprehensible, Draco slapped my shoulder, shouting something over the riot, and Millicent, going decidedly out of character, gave me a hug, something she wasn't prone to do. And when they discovered which subjects I'd gotten O's in, they went absolutely wild. Defence is a notoriously hard subject to gain high grades in, and I'd managed the highest, not once, but twice. My eardrums nearly exploded.  
  
It turned out, after about twenty minutes of shouting and celebrating, of which I took little part, that Millicent had managed and O in her Charms practical, and an E in the theoretical. It was strange, since I've always thought she was better at Charms than I am, but it turned out she wasn't. I had a hard time understanding that I had actually passed my O.W.L's with distinction, four O's and all, and kind of just sat there in a chair, staring at the letter. I know, I know, it was a bit pathetic..alright, a lot pathetic, but I had just received four O's. I cannot stress that enough. Mrs Parkinson was watching us with a disapproving look on her face, but Mr Parkinson took time to hug both Millicent and Pansy, and shook Draco's hand as well as mine. He's a kind man, Mr Parkinson. So different from his wife. But I'm digressing, as is my tendency.  
  
Either way, Pansy decided we needed to celebrate that all of us passed our O.W.L's, and opted for a trip to the nearest town. I will never understand women's affection for shopping. If I need something, I go and get it and return to what I was doing. I don't waste time looking at things I'm not going to buy anyway. It is, as stated, a waste of time that could be used to do much more valuable things. Like studying, for instance. So it came to be that we headed down to a , shock and amazement, Muggle town, to spend our time looking at things we had no intention of ever buying. Like I said, shopping is not for me.  
  
Millicent and Pansy soon left for a clothing store, and I couldn't help but chuckle at the expression on Millicent's face; one of suffering and hopelessness. It seemed as if I wasn't the only one who hated shopping. Good old Millie; we feel the same about a lot of things. Draco and I were left to our own devices, and were soon wandering around, trying to keep out of the way of the Muggles. They have a nasty habit of bumping into people and not apologizing. Not that I'm racking down on them; I'm just judging from what I've experienced.  
  
"So Blaise, how much did you pay the examiners to give you the O's?" Draco teased.  
  
"Shut up." I suggested, while shoving him lightly; I hate when people imply that I don't earn what I get.  
  
Unfortunately, I momentarily forgot that Draco usually gives twice as good as he gets, and he shoved me back, hard enough for me to lose my balance and go stumbling sideways into one of the Muggle shops, neatly bashing my head against their glass door. I ended up just inside the doors, after stumbling down a set of steps and cursing whatever god decided it was a good idea to create Draco Malfoy, rubbing my poorly abused head.  
  
"Ow. Damn. I'll get you for that, Draco." I muttered, and held my head in my hands for a moment.  
  
"You alright?" A voice with a distinct American accent asked me.  
  
I looked up and met the eyes of a man, in his twenties of somewhat older, with brown hair and blue eyes, who was looking at me with concern. Disconcerting, considering the tales I'd been told of Muggles since the age of four, about of horrible they were, and also considering the fact that only my friends would have cared about what I did or not. Either way, I decided that telling him I was alright was the correct course of action.  
  
"Yes, I am. I am used to being hit over the head with blunt implements by now. Said implement being a door makes no difference. But I will surely kill Draco as soon as I find him." I smirked.  
  
"Draco? Strange name. But hope he gets away; I'd hate to have to call the cops on you." The man grinned.  
  
It took me a moment to puzzle out what "cops" could mean, but seeing as I'd threatened to kill Draco, they must be something like Aurors, and the Muggle equivalent of Aurors would be policemen, and cops must be some kind of slang for that. Amazing what you can learn from eavesdropping on Muggleborns. I grinned back, before looking around the shop. There appeared to be some sort of shelves with small, thin, square boxes stacked in them. I raised an eyebrow, not quite recognizing them, before my brain finally kicked into action. The same Mugglebron that had spoken of policemen had also explained these...things...to her companion, and she's called them "CD's" I believe, and said they were filled with music. Strange ideas these Muggles have.  
  
Alright, so that's quite a lot to remember for something I just overheard once, but my memory acts like that. It remembers both important and unimportant things and can throw them up years later, when I need them. Or when I don't, either way I remember them. I took a hesitant step towards the shelf labelled "Metal" in bold, white letters, and picked up the closest box. CD. Whatever.  
  
"Ah, I knew you were a metal-boy the moment you stumbled through the door. Do you like Metallica?" The man, who still hadn't introduced himself asked me.  
  
I blinked. "metal-boy"? What the -? Oh well, playing along never hurt anyone. And apparently, Metallica was some sort of music, and judging from the man's reaction, it was good. I nodded hesitantly, and continued staring down at the object in my hand. It read Reload near the bottom, with some orange, liquid looking picture across the cover. I turned it over, scanning over the tiny, white writing on the back, which probably were the names of the songs.  
  
"Reload is definitely their best record, although Ride the Lightning isn't too bad either." The man continued, seemingly ignorant of my silence.  
  
"Mhm." I mumbled, reaching into my pocket, "I'll take it. You don't have one of them walkmans, do you?"  
  
I confess. I read it in a book once. I'm so horrible, such an unfaithful Slytherin. Muggle Studies is a no-go for us, but I read it anyway. I'm sorry. Can't you hear me wailing? I'm practically on my knees, begging for forgiveness. As if. Anyhow, he pulled out one of those walkmans, and I bought the lot. Thankfully, I had enough money changed into Muggle money to make it. I doubt he would have appreciated seeing Sickles and Galleons plunk down on his counter. It would have made him confused.  
  
I stepped out of the shop, one Muggle record and one Muggle walkman richer, and set out to find Draco. He needed to die. Preferably in a very gory and nasty way. With a lot of blood, all over the floor, staining his peroxide blonde hair a lovely shade of scarlet. I am very protective of my head, and having it bashed into glass doors isn't my idea of fun. It might show.  
  
******'  
  
I found my target standing outside a clothing store; probably the one Pansy and Millicent went into, leaning against the window carelessly. Draco has always had this careless air about him, as if he wakes up and gets out of bed and still looks handsome. The worst part is, that's what happens. He just wakes up, runs his hands through his hair, and looks like he stepped out of Witch's Weekly. Annoying, that is. I stuffed my newly purchased things under my jacket and crept silently towards him. I'd get him for pushing me into a door. And for being so damn perfect.  
  
When I was only a few feet away, Draco still hadn't noticed me, and I was starting to wonder where the hell his Slytherin duelling-perfected senses had gone. When I was close enough, I launched myself at him and knocked him to the ground. Seeing as I am both taller and heavier than him, I managed to knock him off his feet. I might not look the heavy part, but Draco's thin as a bloody broom in any case, just as I am, and since I'm taller than him, I have more space to spread my weight on. And Draco deserves a few good beatings anyway, for what he's done, and for the idiocy of becoming close to me, even though he knew that I was likely to hurt him badly one day.  
  
We'd rolled around on the pavement for a while, and I'd landed some good punches on his, while earning a cut under my left eye and a fist in my ribs myself when I decided that enough was enough, landed another punch and stood up. I offered him a hand up, which he took, standing up and brushing himself off while looking ever so slightly indifferent. That was when I noticed we'd attracted quite a big audience. They were watching us with their mouths open and more than a few looked like they had been about to stop us, breaking into the fight. When we so suddenly stopped and stood up like nothing had happened, they seemed to be surprised. I know I would have been.  
  
"You alright, Draco?" I asked, flicking away a piece of an old news paper that had made its new home on my shoulder.  
  
"I could have been better. Why did you do that? It'll give me a black eye, you know." He whined.  
  
"Because you deserved it. See it as revenge and besides, what doesn't kill us only makes us stronger." I smirked.  
  
"Or drives us insane, take you pick." He muttered, "What're you looking at?"  
  
The last comment was directed at the gathering of people standing around us. I raised my eyebrow at them, keeping a deliberately indifferent expression on my face. I like confusing Muggles; they get so flustered, and they never realize I'm only joking around. It's kind of funny really. I was just about to burst out laughing when Pansy and Millicent broke through the crowd. I swallowed. Pansy was looking mighty angry. I took a step back and let her concentrate that anger on Draco.  
  
"You!" She screeched, jabbing him in the chest with her finger, "How dare you fight on and open street like that?"  
  
"Me? It was Blaise who jumped at me and started punching my lights out!" Draco protested, and I winced.  
  
Pansy spun around and advanced on me, glaring at me dangerously. Damn, that girl is scary when she's mad. She bared her teeth and snarled, just like an angry lion, and I tried to force out a friendly grin, but just didn't manage. She grabbed hold of my collar and nearly strangled me.  
  
"Are you mad, Blaise?" She snapped.  
  
"No, Pansy. It was revenge for what he did, honestly. He shoved me head- first into a glass door and made me see stars for a minute, and I thought I needed to get revenge for that." I justified myself, "Honestly."  
  
"Why do boys have to be so childish, Millie?" Pansy whined, letting go of me. "Can't they stay serious for one day? Just one miserable day of my life?"  
  
Draco and I looked at each other, shrugged, and followed the girls away from there. It was probably time to go back to the Parkinson's place anyway. I had to find a way to listen to the Muggle walkman in Pansy's house, in secret, since I knew Mrs Parkinson would throw me out and behead me with a able knife if she ever found out I brought something Muggle into her household, never mind that most things in the house had originally been invented by Muggles. Mrs Parkinson isn't a very logical woman.  
  
******'  
  
I had managed to sneak the walkman past Mrs Parkinson, although I was sure Mr Parkinson saw me. He didn't say anything though, so I wasn't sure. I sat curled up in my bed, trying to figure out how the damn thing worked. Thus far, I had figured out how to plug the headphones in, and how to get the batteries in. I just couldn't get the bloody thing open to put in the CD. It was frustrating really, and I couldn't ask for help, since consorting with anything remotely Muggle was looked upon as a sin in the Slytherin House. Well, not really, but close enough, and I knew that being popular, or at least not spit upon, goes a long way in this world. It gets you more frequent pay-raises, among other things.  
  
I'd opened to CD I'd bought, and flipped through the little booklet that went with it. Muggle music seemed a lot more interesting than wizarding music did. It had better lyrics, for one. Wizarding music always seemed to be about sappy love, or sunny days, and things no normal, sane, not-happy- twenty-four-hours-a-day person could relate to. These lyrics were angsty, sure, but a lot better. Suited my personality better, to put it plain and simple. And I hadn't even heard it yet. Meh. I'm weird. Another thing that wouldn't exist if it wasn't for Muggles; the word "weird". We have a lot to thank them for. Finally, after about a quarter of an hour's work, I gave up. I wasn't going to succeed today, so I might as well leave it for tomorrow.  
  
I undressed and crawled under the covers, since it was too late to do anything else without being accused of being a night owl, something I was too annoyed to take quietly at the moment. My mind was buzzing with the events of the day, centring around my hugely im-bloody-portant, four O's. I still couldn't quite believe that I, who rather took on unimportant, time- wasting private projects than studied, had actually earned four Outstanding's on my O.W.L's.  
  
There had been few Slytherin Head students in Hogwarts history, since the Slytherin House tended towards plotting for their own benefit, and not working for other's, but the few we'd had had been good ones. Cassius Warrington was the most recent, and Phineas Nigellus, albeit the least liked Headmaster Hogwarts ever had, had been Head Boy in his day as well, and from what I learned, he was a good one. We'd even had a Head Girl once; Emmeline Vance. It wasn't that long ago, back when Snape went to Hogwarts. I think she was in his year, or something to that degree. The girl who single-handily earned more N.E.WT's than all her predecessors had.  
  
But what I was thinking about before I went into a long digression about Head students, was that with my four O's I had a good chance on becoming Head Boy. Not impossible, and it would be nice to rove that Draco-sodding- Malfoy isn't the best Slytherin has to offer. Don't get me wrong, I like Draco, he's my best friend, but the face he presents to the other Houses is less than flattering for our House. All the fights he picks, all the snide comments and insults, especially directed towards Weasley, Granger and Potter. I won't lie and say I've never insulted them, but I never did it to their faces, and never in a crowded hallway, where many other students could overhear and start judging the whole House by my behaviour.  
  
That's just what I mean about Draco's stupidity. He'll pick a fight, whatever the reason, no matter where he is, or no matter that the situation is about as bad as you could get to pick a fight, and then he'll break every rule imaginable while fighting. It's just so bleeding stupid. He puts both himself and Slytherin in a bad light, and he of all people should know that popularity will get you almost anything, and you don't ensure popularity by fighting Potter at every turn, considering that he's the saviour of the whole damn magical world. Someday, I will take him by the ear and explain some things to him. Someday I will, but not right now.  
  
Slytherin doesn't need to be put in a bad light. We're already filth in other's eyes. And Draco's display of idiocy last year with the Inquisitorial Squad hasn't made it any better. He made such and arse out of himself, degrading us in the worst way he could imagine. Not even the Ravenclaws liked Umbridge, and he goes and sides with her, that utter idiot. Another thing to add to the "Reasons-To-Beat-Draco-Bloody" list. Right up there with running to McGonagall and being a nasty little tell- tale. Bloody moron.  
  
Not that I'm the smartest person to ever walk the face of the earth. Today I had not only picked a fight with Draco in broad day light in the middle of a street because I felt like revenging myself, but I had snapped at almost everyone as well. But I'm like that. I am more likely to yell at and curse my friends than my enemies. I don't really have enemies anyway; I have people who know me and people who don't. And I'm so damn dysfunctional at times that I lash out on my few friends for no reason. There's something wrong with my mind, like some one's always messing with my head, freaking me out and making me act this way. Afterwards, I always apologize, but sometimes, it can be days before I get back down to earth again. I'm fucked up. In fact, I'm so freaked that I would probably die if I tried to live like a normal adolescence. I'm the arch-bishop of all fuck-ups.  
  
Someday, when I have the energy, time and resources, I'll avenge Slytherin, redeem it so that we're more than that, more than just plotting, nasty, insulting bastards. But all in good time. I intend to survive this godforsaken war first. Well, death to all tyrants, all riches rightly belong to me, freedom for the people, and all that crap. Time for sleep, I believe.  
  
I closed my eyes, finally giving in to the sleep that had been threatening to overtake me for quite some time. I really needed to get my day-rhythm right again before school started again in three weeks. While staying up all night and drag myself through the days like a zombie might have worked the last few weeks before exams in fifth year, sixth year would more than likely be screwed up if I tried to use that tactic. Heh. Welcome to the screwed up life of Blaise Zabini everybody. Enjoy the show.  
  
******'  
  
Ending Notes; I know, I know, the Metallica thing was a little too obvious a reference to my pen-name, but no matter how I try, I can't imagine Blaise listening to anything else. Maybe other rock or metal bands, but that's as far as I can go, and I know Metallica best, therefore making them the best band to write about. I've always pictured Blaise as the angsty teenager who wears a lot of black and listens to destructive music. Otherwise, in this fic, he reminds me of Reno from Final Fantasy 7...I wonder why.? 


	6. Spying Through the Garden Wall

I'd like to thank you all for your reviews; they're wonderful to read when I get back home from school after a hard day. I'll have to start writing faster soon, but I've got an original project to finish before I can go all out on writing Slytherin Vengeance.  
  
Have fun reading now!  
  
**************'  
  
"Been living this life too long  
  
I will rage on to sorrow  
  
Burn the hopes of tomorrow"  
  
-Rage on to Sorrow, by Rini  
  
*************'  
  
I got a letter the next morning. It was from my mother, talking about how good a little boy I was, earning such high grades, and how proud she and my father were of me. I threw it in the trash. I don't want to hear my mother prattle on about how great a son I am, because I'm not. I'm not, I'm not, and I never will be. I know I should honour them, I know I should respect them and make them proud, but I can't. I just can't. I'm a disgrace to my parents, even though I try not to. Nothing will ever make up for what I've done to them.  
  
I don't feel sorry for myself; I see no reason to, but I do feel sorry for my family. They've put up with more than I could ever ask them to, more than even they know. They have no idea why I was so moody and snappish after my fourth year. They have no clue why I walked around the house after my second year, always carrying a mirror. They don't know why I woke up every night after my third year, screaming because I was afraid of werewolves. At thirteen, I'd developed a severe lycanthrope-phobia, caused by Professor Snape's horror stories about werewolves and their bloodthirsty habits. I still have bouts of it, but not as powerful anymore. I've started to dissect the logic in it, finding that it is merely horror stories for impressionable thirteen-year-olds.  
  
I'm a thin, ugly, sarcastic Slytherin with a lycanthrope-phobia, all of which are looked down upon in society. But then again, there are few societies as prejudiced as the magical one. We're afraid of werewolves and vampires, although it was we who created them in the first place. We're afraid of Muggles, although with a good reason, and we're afraid of dragons and wars. We're even afraid of ourselves. We're afraid of each other, but most of all we're afraid of ourselves; afraid we'll lose control and fall into the pit labelled madness, insanity, afraid our last hold on morale and honour will slip and we will be left standing by ourselves, wondering what we did wrong. We're afraid of being found out, afraid someone will discover that we're not as righteous or noble as we'd like to imagine, afraid someone will see us for what we are; small, scared and helpless. But I guess that comes from being too secretive.  
  
And I'm too rational.  
  
I know myself too well, and my mind won't let me forget it. I know myself, and I know others, and I know that in the end, whether we're brave or we're loyal, we're smart or we're cunning, we're going to be found out, torn down, killed or murderers. Burn like brief candles, before being blown out by the wind and never re-lit. I know it's a very sentimental metaphor, but it's the only one I can come up with that fits. We're born, we live, we die. That's all there is to it. I don't believe in reincarnation. I don't believe, and that's my major flaw.  
  
I sat down, tried to write back, but failed. It wasn't really a letter that needed a reply, either way. And if I tried to write back, I'd probably angst a lot and make my parents worry. It would be just like me. I sent the owl off, carrying a note with just two words.  
  
Thank you.  
  
*******'  
  
At the breakfast table two days later, I was informed that we would leave for Diagon Alley the next day. It was then I realized that almost all of the summer was gone, and that we'd be going back to Hogwarts in less than two weeks. The summer had really passed quicker than I'd wanted. I didn't want to go back to Hogwarts; I wanted to stay away for as long as possible, since the Umbridge-incident hadn't given me any good hopes for the future, Defence-wise.  
  
I finished my ever present cup of coffee, and decided to go up to my room again and listen to my walkman, which I after much trial and error had managed to get to function, and maybe write a letter to my sister. I hadn't had time to listen to the CD I purchased, but I most certainly would today. I closed the door and leaned against it for a while. I was tired, for some reason which probably related to my late-night philosophical bouts, and I needed to be alone for a while. Even Millicent, whom I always got along with, no matter what my mood was, seemed annoying at the moment.  
  
I sat down at the desk beside my bed in my wonderfully not-mine room, which I'd borrowed from the Parkinson family, and pulled out one of the few things in the room I actually owned; my walkman. I plugged in my headphones and put them over my ears, pulling out a quill and a parchment as well, and begun to write. My sister is a nice person to write to; she always writes back, and she's always contagiously cheerful, no matter how depressed I am, she can always make me smile, if only at her helplessly adorable descriptions of life at the Zabini residence. Adorable, but also amazingly sharp and correct. She must have gotten my sarcastic tongue. Which isn't too good; it's gotten me more trouble than anything else in my life.  
  
I press the play button on my walkman, and a heavy drumbeat startled me out of my thoughts. I blink and stare at the machine in surprise. I don't know quite what I expected from Muggle music, but that clearly wasn't it. When the song starts, I blink again. The singer had a somewhat hoarse voice, reminding me of myself when I refuse to let myself cry, but somehow, it blended in with the music. No magical singer that I knew of could have pulled this song off without completely destroying his voice. After sitting entranced for the whole first song, I tried to write my letter, simultaneously listening to the music.  
  
Snake, I am the snake  
  
Tempting, that bite you take  
  
Let me make your mind  
  
Leave yourself behind  
  
Be not afraid  
  
I've got what you need  
  
Hunger I will feed  
  
Reminds me of Voldemort. He could speak to the Basilisk, and believes in mind-controlling his followers. Stupid bastard. It might be effective to be able to control your every day evil-overlord-followers, but people like Lucius Malfoy, who has a higher intelligence than the average butterfly are bound to start working against you, have they any measure of common sense. But all in all, good music, if unusual to me.  
  
I finished my letter with a scrawled signature, and ventured out of the room in search of an owl I could use. I rolled up the parchment, whistling all the while. Now there's a horrible mental image; me whistling, with or without reason. It should inspire nightmares for most people. I never whistle, or am even remotely cheerful. I laugh, yes, I smile, but I'm not in anyway cheerful. I laugh at you, not with you. And even when I laugh, I'm kind of freaked out, which tends to frighten anyone who isn't my sister. Or Millicent. My sister just hugs me, which ruins the whole thing. The fact that she's forced to hug my knees because she's too short to hug my properly it a rather big let-down as well. My sister is definitely diabolical; no one can ruin an "evil" moment quite like her.  
  
I glanced out a window as I passed. Mrs Parkinson and her daughter seemed to be having a typical mother-daughter talk, translated to "what the heck are you doing and why didn't you tell me?" in the garden, which mean that Draco and Millicent were probably off somewhere, trading insults. They were good at that; we all are. After I'd sent my letter, I would go and join them, probably improving my insult-arsenal as well.  
  
******'  
  
"Hey Blaise. Haven't seen you in a while." Draco greeted me as soon as I stepped inside the room.  
  
I shrugged as I made my way to a chair across from him, dropping down in it conveniently forgetting that I have bones in my body. I stretched my arms above my head and listened as my shoulders gave an audible crack. I winced at the sound, but otherwise ignored it. Millicent raised an eyebrow at me, imitating Draco's infamous smirk, and I smiled at her.  
  
"Hello." I answered, "I've been busy. Apparently, the Anxious Mother's Association is alive and kicking, because I got a letter from my parents concerning my O.W.L-grade, telling me about how proud they were of me. The same crap I get every year, really, with the difference that it was O.W.L's this year."  
  
"Yeah, same here, but my mother was complaining that I didn't get higher grades." Millicent grinned, "Did you answer?"  
  
I had already closed my eyes and leaned back in my chair, so I opened one eye to stare at it in disbelief. Didn't she know me better than that? I chuckled quietly and snorted at her curious expression. Honestly, my friends are such a strange bunch.  
  
"Of course I didn't write back, Millie. Do I look like I've gone insane? I don't write to my parents; I wrote to my sister, though." I answered, still chuckling.  
  
"Ah. I should have known. Still have that free-floating hostility towards your parents?" Millicent asked, smile vanishing.  
  
"Nope. It's pretty much focused, I think." I replied, grinning like a maniac. "But that's unimportant. How're you two doing this fine day?"  
  
"Get a grip, Blaise, and please go back to normal." Draco pleaded, "We're fine, but we're waiting for Pansy to come back form wherever she went with her mother."  
  
"She's in the garden," I said helpfully, "Shall we go and eavesdrop?"  
  
"Sure, but you know Mrs Parkinson has ears like a cat, and she'd hear us from twenty feet away. Hiding in the bushes isn't going to help us this time, I believe." Millicent warned, "The only reason Clearwater and Weasley didn't hear us in third year is because Weasley was too busy stuffing his tongue down her throat."  
  
"Ah yes, but then we didn't have my private discovery; the nifty hole in the garden wall" I said, holding up my finger.  
  
******'  
  
How we managed to fit in between the rose bush and the garden wall, I'll never know, considering two of us were larger than normal fifteen year olds, and the third wasn't a midget by a long shot. But somehow, we managed to fit in, even though I got stuck with Millicent's knee in my stomach and Draco's elbow in the vicinity of my nose, and we could eavesdrop on Pansy and her mother quite easily. But, seeing as we'd only started listening in the middle of the conversation, getting the hang of what the hell they were talking about was a little harder.  
  
"..So I do not appreciate you doing that in the view of everyone." Mrs Parkinson was saying.  
  
"I'm sorry, mother." Pansy said. "We did not mean to act that way. I was scared, and it just happened."  
  
Now I was really confused. Pansy? Scared? Not in this lifetime, and definitely not in the last few weeks. And what had she done "in the view of everyone", aside from dropping her skirt once in front of her mother's acquaintances when she was three years old? I leaned closer, taking care not to hurt my all too cumbersome friends.  
  
"I am aware of that. However, it is very bad taste to do such a thing, especially since Cassius had just announced what he had." Mrs Parkinson finished, sounding rather confused.  
  
Ah. The disastrous, if lucky for us, party. It surprised me that it had taken Mrs Parkinson this long to discuss it with her daughter. That woman is truly slow some times. I glared at Draco who was having a hard time not giggling like a school girl, and he promptly stopped. I turned back to eavesdropping, smiling to myself. We used to eavesdrop all the time on our parents when we were younger. This had been a good idea.  
  
******'  
  
It turned out Mrs Parkinson wasn't too happy with Pansy and Draco, not happy at all, because she later took Draco off for a little talk in the garden, and even though we didn't eavesdrop on that conversation, Draco told us later. He had a hard time keeping a straight face, he told us, since Mrs Parkinson asked ridiculous questions in his opinion, and he'd got through the talk by the skin of his teeth. Of course, I doubt him to this day, since he has a habit of bragging and making himself seem tougher than he really is. We're all like that at some time in our lives. Draco just happens to be like that all the time.  
  
I spent the rest of the day in my room, making a list over what I needed to buy in Diagon Alley the next day. It was quite a lot. I'd chosen to take Defence, Charms, Arithmancy, Transfiguration and Potions. It's one more subject than one is required to take, but I took them anyway, because taking them would give me a wide field of positions to choose from when I graduated. Charms is something used in every area imaginable. Ministry desk jobs, Auror divisions, further studies at university, dragon taming, just about everything you can think of, as it is an integral part of being a wizard.  
  
I needed the latest Standard Book of Spells, a book named Advanced Guide to Transfiguration, Arithmancy for the Advanced, (very similar titles on these books), A Potions Maker's Handbook and a new Defence book called Counter- Curses and Dark Creatures. Unimaginative titles on these books, I'll tell you. But heck, it was on the list, and that meant Dumbledore had got a new Defence teacher. That was good of course; maybe this time, the Defence teacher wouldn't be mentally unbalanced or prone to shape-shift once a month. It would be nice to have a sound, normal, and most of all sane Defence teacher, instead of the freaks we usually get. But knowing our luck, we'd be stuck with a rejected hermit who'd joined the Garden Gnome's Liberation League because he "believed in the trees."  
  
I rolled up the parchment, and stretched. Glancing at the clock, I realized I'd missed dinner. Again. I have a habit of missing meals, which of course could be one of the reasons to why I look like a bloody beanpole. I turned my head and winced; I had a crick in my neck that wasn't of this world. I need to learn not to sit over a book for several hours.  
  
Standing up, I headed out of my room in search of the entrance to the kitchen. It had been a long time since I'd been there, so I needed to freshen up my memory. If I walked left from my bedroom door, then down the short flight of stairs, past the portrait of some ancient Parkinson on a grey horse, and then around the corner and to the potted plant with the hideous pink flowers, and then tweaked the uppermost flower, then I'd come to the kitchen. If no one had moved the hideous potted plant, I'd be as good as there.  
  
I started walking, silently reciting the directions in my mind, not noticing that someone was watching me. It wasn't until I'd opened the archway to the kitchen that I hear a chuckle behind me. I spun around and came face to face with Mr Parkinson, who was standing there with a newspaper under his arm and a coffee cup in his hand, smiling.  
  
"Hello there," He said pleasantly, "It seems you know more of my house and its secrets than I do."  
  
"Not really," I shrugged, "I have yet to find out how to get in through the window. That's always useful to know. But I can't get it to open, I'm afraid."  
  
"Ah," he winked at me, which was very disconcerting, and then he leaned closer, whispering, "Try kicking the frame once; it opens easily after that."  
  
And then he walked away. He just told me how to break into his house, and then he walked away. There's no denying it now; Mr (probably) William Parkinson, is without a doubt the coolest man I've had the honour to meet. I wonder if he was a burglar in a past life. He sure seems like it. I shook my head, and grinning entered the kitchen. I was in desperate need of a sandwich.  
  
********'  
  
Hogwarts has Britain's largest population of House Elves, but they often turn out very strange specimens. The Parkinson kitchen was deserted in comparison; only three Elves inhabited the rather large area, and they greeted me with sleepy nods. I smiled back; they knew me pretty well, as I spent a lot of my time down here during my summer visits. I was a growing boy, and they made good food, what else could I need? I settled down at the table and waved for Dipsy, who immediately came over.  
  
"Hey there Dipsy. Would you mind getting me a sandwich?" I asked, smiling.  
  
"Right away, Sir."  
  
I've always liked House Elves. No matter what happens, they are always so happy about everything. A war could rage just outside their windows, but as long as they get to do their chores, they're as happy as a fish in water. And not only that, but they have a well-developed sense of justice as well. Like that freaky Elf Potter rescued in our second year; it apparently turned against its master and ventured out of its house just to warn Potter about Voldemort. It overcame ancient magic's that bound it to its house; just because of what it thought was right. Of course, that rescue is strictly confidential, so of course, anyone who counts knows what happened.  
  
I mused over Potter as I munched on my sandwich. A lot has happened to him, even though I don't think he asked for it. I don't dislike him for what happened to him; I sure as hell don't want to chase around the school for a bloodthirsty Basilisk, but it's the things he get that annoys me. Every damn teacher in the school favours him like you wouldn't believe, except Snape and Sinistra. Snape goes to extremes the other way instead, by always picking on Potter and making his life hell, while Sinistra just doesn't bother with his fame. That could of course be because she only sees him at midnight, but still, I think she's the fairest teacher in school. Even the goddamned Headmaster favours Potter.  
  
I don't think he's got backbone enough to refuse it, and just makes me want to strangle him. He's a Gryffindor, for crying out loud, and he's supposed to be brave and all that. He's supposed to be noble, and just; he's supposed to give up all he has to help some disabled three year old, he's not supposed to accept everything given to him. He's just not. And yet he does, and inspires dislike for Slytherins along the way, not just among the students, but among the staff as well. And people wonder why Slytherins are so resentful of everyone.  
  
I finished up my sandwich but didn't leave the table just yet. Sometimes I wonder why I don't come to the Hogwarts kitchens more often, but then I think about the crowded room and the noise, and then it passes. I'm anti- social, I'm aware of that, but it's not just because I feel like it. For every friend I gain, I have to give up a part of my privacy, and for friends like Millicent, who is practically so close to me she lives in my head, I have no privacy. I'm an intensely private person, and I can't afford having more than two or three friends, and certainly no more than one friend like Millicent. Crowds make me nervous, and new people make me suspicious. I have a social deficiency, and there's no use trying to work around it.  
  
It does limit my choices work-wise, however. I'll never be able to become a store's clerk, for one. I'd probably alienate the customers and scare everyone away. Ministry work is right out the window as well, since then I'd have to deal with new people very day. It seems like short of becoming a hermit and getting paid for it, I'll have to live off my parents' money for the rest of my life, and that would be humiliating. I want to earn what I get in life, not just ride long on someone's fame or fortune, like Weasley has to do, just because of his poor choice in friends. Not that he has a choice.  
  
Maybe I can talk to Snape about post-graduation activities, also known as life, when we get back to school. Maybe he'll know of some occupation that doesn't require me to deal with new people every day. Lord knows he's doing fine in that area. I don't think he's cracked a smile in the thirteen years I've known him. He's too serious. Maybe if I get him into group therapy, he'll loosen up. Sitting in a circle and taking turns to say "Hello my name is Severus Snape, and I'm a really sarcastic bastard," Might help a little. One never knows.  
  
I looked out the window as I walked back to my room. The sun was starting to set, making the sky a bright orange colour. If anyone had painted a sky like that, I'd immediately said it wasn't natural colours and looked absolutely fake, but that's what nature gets you. I trudged back to my room, contemplating the morrow, and before I got too poetic, I went to bed. Getting too poetic might kill you.  
  
You never know.  
  
********'  
  
Ending Notes; the garden wall scene might have been silly, but it feels like something Blaise would do, and I know for a fact that a lot of the people at HMS Overworked and Underappreciated at FictionAlley Park agrees with me. I think...You never know.. 


	7. A Trip to Diagon Alley

I have to say that I love the encouragement you're giving me; it keeps me writing, be sure of that.  
  
I want to give a shout-out to my shipping buddies at HMS Overworked & Underappreciated; you guys rock. Don't worry; your ship will make appearances, but only in the second and third part. Blaise is just a bit too self-centric right now.  
  
********'  
  
"Let me break into a puzzle  
  
Fall out of the box  
  
Put myself together  
  
Piece by piece"  
  
-Puzzle Pieces, by Rini  
  
*******'  
  
I'm a vampire. Or at least I think I am. Let's list the evidence; one, I hate sunlight, two, I'm allergic to garlic, three, I nearly always dress in black, and did I mention I despise sunlight? Draco woke me up at fife- thirty in the morning! Did you know that there are many, many, many ways to kill a peroxide-blonde, snobbish boy? I think I shall write a book about it when I graduate..nah, too much work.  
  
There was a booming knock on my door, at exactly five-twenty seven in the morning, and I couldn't avoid waking up. I swear, I was blinded by that godforsaken sun. I know there were tribes several hundred years ago who worshipped the sun, but trust me, they didn't know what they were doing. They really, really didn't. I was just about to turn over and fall asleep again when the door flew open. I buried my head in the pillow and prayed to whatever deity was listening to send a lighting bolt at the early risers of the world.  
  
"Wakey, wakey, Blaise!" I voice practically chirped from the doorway.  
  
My only reply was a pillow singling through the air and landing squarely on his head. My aim is good, even when almost fully asleep. I curled up on the now bare mattress, mumbling half-formed curse words and nonsensical sentences, happy that I had staved off the heathen early riser.  
  
"Damn moron..mimblewimble.hellish..damn light."  
  
I'm not very coherent while more than half asleep. Scratch that; I'm not coherent until after my first cup of coffee. By the by, that wonderful brown liquid sounds like a good idea right now. Coffeeeee..  
  
"Now, you know it's going to take more than a pillow to get rid of me!" Draco had now moved across the room and was standing at my side, talking in my ear, "You have to get up; we're going shopping today!"  
  
I had contemplated killing Draco before, but when the thought hit me this time, I dismissed it immediately; too many witnesses. And besides, I was too tired to deal with the task that was killing someone. Instead, I gave in and climbed out of bed. I looked around the bedroom for whatever clothes I could find, and finally picked up a pair of faded black jeans and pulled them on. I buckled them up with a belt that was too long, and then pulled on my old black Sex Pistols t-shirt. It's not very normal for a wizard to have a Sex Pistols t-shirt, but I found it in my dad's wardrobe, as far in as possible. Apparently, he was a teenage rebel.  
  
After gathering up my book list from the desk, I set off out the door, in my daily quest for coffee. After coffee, I might be able to focus on the next thing that would be going to Diagon Alley, but only after coffee.  
  
******'  
  
I confess; I slept through most of the ride to London. As the Parkinson's are way too snobbish to travel through Floo Powder, we had to take the long way there. This meant carriage rides, and a shortcut through the magical parts of some village near the Parkinson place. I never bothered to learn the name of it, as it isn't important. I did snore extra loud just to annoy Mrs Parkinson though, as I was bored, and she's easy to annoy, almost pathetically so.  
  
I wouldn't say that Diagon Alley is my favourite place on earth; I dislike crowds immensely, and there is always a lot of people there, but there's something about that place that makes me want to stay there. Maybe it's something in the water. I don't know, but either way I found myself with a smile on my face as we stepped through the wall. I wasn't listening as Mrs Parkinson gave us instructions for when, where and how we were expected to behave ourselves, and instead stood staring off in the distance with a rather dumb look on my face. I'm good at acting dumb; it can get you a lot of things, which is why I perfected it early on.  
  
Aware that I had some sort of deadline, although not entirely sure what it was, I wandered off into the crowds, heading vaguely in the direction of Flourish and Blotts. I felt the weight of my booklist in my pocket, and whistled as I went, quite happy with the situation. Of course, everything looks better after a cup of coffee. Caffeine has always worked to brighten up my day.  
  
I pushed the door open, still whistling, and pulled the booklist out of my pocket after dodging a few people who were coming out of the store. I decided to get the easy ones first; Arithmancy and Transfiguration were always in the front of the store, and I saw no reason for it to be different this year. Not bothering to look up, trusting that everyone would get out of my way, I walked further into the store. I trusted people's common sense in getting out of the way of a rather tall boy without bothering him, but apparently I should have read humanity's manual a little better.  
  
I had nearly reached the stack of Advanced Guide to Transfiguration books when I stumbled over someone and nearly fell down. I managed to catch myself just in time, but the person I ran into was mercilessly knocked over and fell to the floor with a resounding thump. I looked up from my booklist, ready to apologize, but stopped immediately, as the sight before me was rather surprising. On the floor, books in a circle around her, was Granger, the single most annoying girl in the world. How Potter and Weasley are able to stand her, I'll never know.  
  
She glared up at me, clearly angry that I had somehow sabotaged her day or something, as it is all Gryffindors' way to assume Slytherins are horrible conspirators. However, I matched her glare for glare, and waited for her to get out of my way. Had it been anyone else, I would have helped them up, but as it was Granger, I decided that she could held herself up if she was even half as smart and capable as the teachers painted her. Suits her to have to work for something.  
  
"Watch where you're going," She snapped, glaring at me.  
  
I snorted. Watch where I am going? If she had not been nose-deep in some book about astrophysics, she would have seen me coming and would have been able to avoid me. Of course, I could have avoided her as well, but that was not the point. Besides, she deserved to be knocked over every once in a while.  
  
"And so should you," I replied.  
  
She got up off the floor and prepared to launch into some self-righteous rant about Slytherins, but I ignored her and snatched a book from the pile and walked away. I wasn't in the mood for confrontations with annoying Gryffindors, no matter how much coffee I'd had. I needed to get my books as quick as possible, so that I might get some ice cream as Fortescue's before our deadline. Some supplies for my Silver Arrow might come in handy as well, and that would take some time to get too.  
  
Ten minutes later, I was at the back of the store, looking for the Defence book. It proved hard to find, and when I finally did, it was at the top of the shelf, forcing me to put all my books on the floor to reach up for it. I managed to grasp it with my fingertips, which was unusual for me, due to my height and all. Deciding to be nice for once, I pulled out a few more books from the shelf and put them on a lower one, thinking that Draco and the girls might get them later, if they were even taking Defence. I didn't know, but even if they weren't, I might have helped some stranger out. Out of character for me, yes, but I blame the early rising for that one.  
  
I paid for my purchases, and walked out of the store, heading for the ice cream parlour. Broom supplies could wait for another day, and I was really curious about the sixth year curriculum. Slowly eating my chocolate ice cream, I flipped through the Defence book. Pictures of many odd and sometimes outright disgusting creatures came into view, as well as descriptions of different curses. It seemed sixth year would be interesting.  
  
"Are you finished yet?"  
  
I was jerked out of my thoughts by the abrupt question, and looking up, I discovered the Gryffindor wonder trio looking at me from atop their own ice cream portions. I raised an eyebrow, and then looked down at my plate of ice cream, which was nearly filled still. I had to marvel at the stupidity of the three.  
  
"Do I look finished?" I asked, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice and failing miserably.  
  
"No," Weasley said, "But you need to move."  
  
"I fail to see a reason," I replied, looking around me, "As there are many other tables vacant, there are many other places for you to sit and eat your ice cream. Thus, we have solved the problem. You are welcome to leave at any time you wish."  
  
"This is our table, Slytherin," Weasley said angrily, aided by Potter's despising look, "You're moving right now."  
  
By now, I was starting to lose my patience. I was not angry, but so annoyed that half of it would be enough. Weasley and Potter kept glaring at me, clearly expecting me to move because they told me to. But if they had come looking for an easy fight, they would have to go elsewhere. I had chosen this table and then I would damn well keep this table.  
  
"I shan't," I said, deliberately wording it as complicated as possible, "Because I believe, correct me if I am wrong, that I arrived here before you did, and claimed this table as mine. I was not informed that it belonged to you, nor do I believe it does. Therefore, I shall keep the table, and you shall go elsewhere. Understood?"  
  
Weasley was about to drop his plate and lunge at me, when Potter grabbed the back of his robes and dragged him away, apparently deciding that today was not a day for confrontations. Granger remained for a moment, sending me a weird look, looking like she was about to apologize, which would have been nice, but then she turned on her heels and left. I raised my eyebrow, but went back to my books and ate my ice cream in peace.  
  
******'  
  
My spoon was resting against my now empty plate, and I was quite engrossed in my Defence book when Draco and the girls finally showed up. Millicent was looking mighty bored, but Pansy had the dazed look that comes from too much shopping. I rolled my eyes. If anyone knows how to shop till they drop, Pansy's that girl. Draco was looking pretty suffering too, and collapsed in the chair next to me, groaning out something about how painful shopping was.  
  
"Have you gotten your books?" I asked, grinning.  
  
"Yes," Draco sighed, "And a million other things as well. You have no idea how many things fit into a single bag, even without magic. You really don't."  
  
"You forget, Draco," I kept grinning, "I have been forced to accompany my mother on her shopping trips, and there are few things I do not know about shopping bags. She can shop until her money runs out, and then go at least another hour."  
  
Draco sent me a horrified look, Millicent smirked, and Pansy giggled. I leaned back with a superior smirk on my face; I had one yet another of Draco's and mine confrontations. Not that that's hard or anything; Draco most often speaks without thinking, making it a whole lot easier to win than it rightfully should have been.  
  
"I pity you, you poor soul," Draco reached over and patted my head, "It must have been a nightmare."  
  
"Yeah," I agreed readily, "As was running into the Gryffindor gang earlier."  
  
"Potter?" Draco's eyes flashed. They always do when Potter comes up, I've noticed.  
  
"Yeah, and Weasley and Granger." I nodded, "The only bright part was knocking Granger over by accident and watching her explode. Well, she didn't explode, as such, but she came pretty damned close."  
  
"I'd have paid to see that!" Draco laughed, "She deserves it!"  
  
After a round of laughter, I leaned back further in my chair and listened to them talk. On the whole, despite encounters with Gryffindors, overprotective mothers and crowds, it had been a good day. I had gotten the books I needed, I had indulged in some chocolate ice cream, and all was well with the world.  
  
*******'  
  
There are few things that fascinate me as much as Defence Against the Dark Arts. The sheer magnitude of spells and curses are enough to drive me mad trying to remember them. The dark creatures might be interesting, but the magical aspect, the technical spells and the complicated wards and so on were much more interesting in my opinion. It's a challenge trying to get them right, and I have never been able to resist challenges. It has got something to do with the Slytherin psyche, I believe.  
  
I was lying on my bed, engrossed in my Defence book. As it was the teachers who put together the booklist, I was getting more and more curious about our new Defence teacher. The book was not good, nor was it passable; it was outright awesome. Even though Defence is my favourite subject, I never could have imagined the dept of the subject before reading this book. Any teacher who put such a book on the list had to be better than Umbridge. We might even have gotten Lupin back. Now that would be a dream come true; Lupin was the one Defence teacher I ever really liked. The fake Mad-Eye, while giving interesting lessons, had a faint sense of creepiness about it that made me freak out.  
  
Yes, I am very temperamental, and can easily have breakdowns, but only when I allow myself to do so. I can stay calm and collected for as long as required, even if someone nearly kills me, but as soon as I am alone, I can let it out. This I know because during our first year, Crabbe and Goyle, total brain capacity -1, almost killed me by accident. When they fight, they mean business, and I happened to get in the way of one of their spats, and ended up thrown down a flight of stairs, nearly cracking my scull open in the process. But I kept my cool, and did not blow up until I was alone. But then, I did it double force; I was eleven years old, so getting kicked around by someone twice my size however accidental was frightening to me. I nearly cried, even though my mother always told me boys don't cry. My father told me otherwise, but that's hardly the issue.  
  
The issue is Defence teachers. Over all, they have been rotten. One had Voldemort on the back of his head, the second couldn't teach a fish how to swim if he tried, the third was good, the fourth was a creep and a double agent, and the fifth was a freak from the Ministry. Not a very good track record for Hogwarts, I fear. Hopefully, this year would be better. It wasn't as if it could get any worse.  
  
I mumbled aloud to myself as I read, trying to memorise the text. It's a bad habit of mine, mumbling while I study. It has driven many people up the wall, demanding to know why I feel the need to mumble every time I try to remember something instead of just sitting there and shutting up, goddamn it! That's how they put it, anyway. Well, Draco, really. He has such a way with words.  
  
I know my mumbling must be severely annoying, but that's the only way I know how to study. If I kept my mouth shut and just read, I might remember the interesting parts, but those were must often the parts I didn't have any use of. These unimportant parts have over the years included the airspeed velocity of an un-laden swallow, both African and European species, the exact length of some obscure Muggle book called Blood Call and strangely enough, how to say "I am a pineapple" in Swedish. Of all the odd assorted knowledge I have acquired in my life that has got to be the strangest one.  
  
I can only dimly remember sleeping during the exams last year, keeping up all night, several days in a row, to study. By then, sleep had become a luxury, not a necessity. It is amazing how long willpower can keep you going. Even after coffee stopped working, pure ironclad discipline kept me going for three days straight. I looked like a bloody zombie after the last exam, but it proved to be worth it. I had earned myself four Outstandings, which I still had not fully accepted. I never pictured myself as an O student. I'd thought myself lucky if I could get an E.  
  
Hopefully, I would be able to slow down slightly this year, and not wind up in the hospital wing due to sleep depravation. I still claim that that horrible Mrs Norris knocked over that vase, not me. I wasn't even in the room; I'm quite sure I was sleeping by then, or studying for my Charms exam. Sighing, I glanced at the clock and put my book away reluctantly. The day after tomorrow, I would go back home, and I wanted to enjoy my last day of relative freedom before that happened. 


	8. Fishing Poles and Quidditch

Shorter chapter this time, but we're nearing the end. Sadly, this part of Slytherin Vengeance will only be nine chapters long, but I'll make up for it in part two and three; they'll be at the very least twenty chapters long. Once again, thanks to all my reviewers, and my ship-mates at Overworked & Underappreciated, without whom I would never have gotten this far.  
  
********'  
  
"I don't want your help this time,  
  
Don't need it,  
  
I can save myself"  
  
-Untitled poem, by me  
  
*******'  
  
The heat of a summer day never failed to make my mind hazy. It slowed down my thoughts and made anything else than something cool to drink and shade to sit in unimportant. Even the impending war faded into the background, leaving a slight unease, but nothing specific. A glass of lemonade in my hand, a shade to sit in and watch my friends acting like five year olds in the sun, and I was all set.  
  
To do anything but be lazy this perfectly paradisiacal summer day seemed like heresy. My brain capacity was running low, but that hardly mattered, as sunny days are just not made for thinking. Apparently, neither is summer, period. Less than a week left of the break, and I still wasn't done with all my homework. I had one last assignment in Astronomy to finish. It seemed pointless to me, as I was only taking Charms, Defence, Arithmancy and Transfiguration next term. But students were required to finish certain parts of their courses, not matter what subject they were discontinuing, but I figured I could finish it later that week, after I got home.  
  
It wasn't as if my parents would let me relax what with my high grades and all. Mother believes that when I have pushed myself to the brink of exhaustion, she has to push me a little further, just to make sure I won't forget what brought me there. This leads that because I have studied like crazy for the last few weeks of both term and summer break, she is going to force me to study even more. Simple logic, really.  
  
My thoughts were interrupted by the lack of sound from my friends. They are always talking all the time, so the sudden silence was certainly odd. I turned my head towards them, and discovered Draco and Millicent watching Pansy with odd looks on their faces. Pansy herself was looking a bit down, lying on her back in the grass, staring at her hands.  
  
"What?" I asked, making myself look quite stupid, "What did I miss?"  
  
"Pansy just told us she won't be prefect come term," Millicent informed me, not looking away from her friend, "And now we're wondering why."  
  
"Not prefect?" I asked, raising my eyebrow, "But you did well last year. How come you're quitting now?"  
  
"It's too much for me to handle," Pansy shrugged. "Everyone outside Slytherin just assumed I was going to be a bitch to them, so naturally, I was. You get what you give, eh? Either way I'm not continuing this year; I sent an owl to Dumbledore about it. Mum won't be happy about it, but they'll just have to cope."  
  
"So, do you know who'll take over?" I wondered, inwardly surprised at the maturity level in Pansy's reasoning, "Millie?"  
  
"No," Millicent shook her head, "I won't. I don't want to; I refused last year when Snape asked me, since I knew fifth year would be horribly tough anyway. I told him not to ask again, as it doesn't exactly get easier after that. Sure, sixth year will feel like the first after the O.W.L's, but I don't want to take responsibility for the whole House."  
  
That certainly surprised me. I knew Pansy might not be the perfect material of a prefect, but Millicent surely seemed like she could do it. However, I did understand her reasoning; taking responsibility for the whole House was a big thing to do, and no doubt it was difficult. But, not counting Daphne Greengrass, Millicent and Pansy were the only Slytherin girls in our year. And Daphne's intelligence was not very high. It has always amazed me how she managed to make it very far into Hogwarts without getting seriously damage. But then again, considering her intelligence, maybe she had gotten damaged.  
  
"But will Snape take Daphne then, or pull one more student up from fifth year?" I scratched my head, "But there aren't many people to pull, is there?"  
  
"I don't know, and I don't care," Draco shrugged, "As long as I don't lose my prefect post, I'm fine with it. I would never hear the end of it if I did, and Potter would laugh at me."  
  
"And we can't have that, can we?" I murmured to myself.  
  
Draco's obsession with Potter is something I've never been able to understand. It seems whatever he does connects in some way to Harry Potter. Should Potter get something, Draco has to get the same thing, only better. When Potter got his Nimbus, Draco had to get the Nimbus 2001. It was something to do with revenge, I figured. Potter had rejected Draco's offer of friendship, and Draco did not appreciate being rejected. If Potter had just been a little more efficient in the area of lying, we would not have the problems we have today. But of course, he's a tidy Gryffindor, and could never do such a thing as lying about anything else than breaking the rules.  
  
I rolled over on my back and stared up at the blue sky. There was not a cloud for as far as I could see, though I suspected it would not last for long. I was having a headache, which I almost always get before storms or generally bad weather. Things had just taken an unexpected turn. I'd always thought Pansy would hold onto her prefect badge, fight for it with teeth and claws, because of the pride in having it.  
  
Getting the prefects badge, and for some the Head Boy or Girl badge, is the most honour full thing that can happen to a Hogwarts student. The responsibility is huge; you'll have to listen to the other students when they come to you with their troubles, and you'll have to patrol the halls and do prefect duties, such as taking away points. Of course, this means you yourself will have to follow the rules. If you're in Slytherin, this means you'll look for every opportunity not to. Following rules would mean cutting back on a lot of things you'd rather you didn't have to cut back on.  
  
But it also gives you a status of being untouchable. A prefect is not a target for any of the blackmail that circulates in the Slytherin House. Having the ability to take off points and assign detentions, a prefect can strike back without being sought revenge on. And a prefect can always tell the teachers about the blackmail and the numerous plots that are going on, and the teacher would have no choice but to expel the students in question. That's a lot of power for one student, and power has always been treasured in Slytherin.  
  
I wouldn't mind being a prefect, but Draco got ahead of me because he's a Malfoy and Snape's a bit in favour of him because of Malfoy Sr. But I know I missed my shot at it; Draco will never let go of his post, not even on the pain on death. I smiled for s second; the image of Draco clutching the prefect's badge and waving his wand towards a group of bloodthirsty Graphorns entered my mind. Quite amusing, really.  
  
******'  
  
Fishing has got to be the most relaxing thing ever. No deadline, no stress, and most importantly, no annoying discussions about nothing. I'm not saying I can't ramble on about nothing, but it does tend to get a bit annoying after a while. Therefore, fishing is the ultimate pastime. I like silence, and you can take as much time as you want to fish, as you can always say the fish aren't biting at the moment, but you're sure they will in a few minutes. And you can use this excuse for hours and no one will blame you for anything.  
  
I quite like that. The best part was that I wouldn't be getting any fish; I hadn't baited the hook at all. Draco was off somewhere with Pansy, probably snogging her brains out like I'd been waiting for them to do. Draco had been just short of screaming out what he felt since that ill-fated dinner party. It wasn't as if Pansy would reject him, so I had just been waiting for them to get their act together. Millicent had opted to go inside again and read or finish her assignments. I had gone fishing.  
  
The lake on the Parkinson grounds was not the largest lake, and nowhere near as beautiful as the Hogwarts one, but it was perfect for fishing. There was no fish in it.  
  
I didn't want to go back home. The feeling was sudden and unexpected, but it was sure as hell there. I didn't want to go back home and face my mother's nagging and my father's constant absence. I didn't want to go back home and be forced to come up with explanations to my sister as to why Daddy wasn't coming home. I'd been seeing love where there no longer existed. My parents weren't happily married. They were friends, not lovers; that I'd known for a long time, but I'd hoped it wouldn't end in tears. It looked like I was going to get my hopes crushed.  
  
It wasn't that they hated each other, or that father was having an affair; they didn't, and he wasn't, but he spent as much time as possible away from home to avoid having to be around my mother. I love them both dearly, as well as I love my sister, but they made a mistake in having her. Their marriage stopped working some time when I was three or four years old, and I was six when she was born. At nine, she's starting to realise her Mum and Dad don't want to live together any more, and she comes to me for explanations. And it's hard; it's so damn hard to tell her anything that won't hurt her.  
  
And I can't not tell her. I can't say that everything is going to be alright, because it isn't, and she can see straight through my lies. She's too good at that; she'll look at me with those big eyes of hers, and then she'll call me Jack, after that accursed Nightmare Before Christmas character, and then she'll ask me what's going on, and I won't be able to lie. Too bad I'm weak when it comes to my sister.  
  
I'm pretty soft about everything when it comes to my sister. She's the only person in existence who gets to ride around on my shoulders and call me Jack for no apparent reason. She's sharp that one; I never thought anyone but me would see the resemblance between me and the skeleton. But she did. I'm proud of her, just like an older brother should be. She's the only one who's seen me crying. I did cry when she came to me the first time with questions about mother and father. She asked me why, and I had to come up with a reason on a split second's notice. She didn't believe me, of course, but she let it drop.  
  
Just as I was about to throw the fishing pole away and stalk off to kill some frustration by flying, Millicent joined me at the lake side. She sat down silently with a book on her lap, not asking any questions as to why I was glaring at my fishing pole, or why I had chosen to go fishing when I had assignments to finish. She's nice that way; she knows when to stay silent, and sometimes, it seems she knows exactly what to say. For now, she says nothing.  
  
"What are you working on?" I asked her, not looking away from the water.  
  
"Potions. I'm almost finished," She replied, "How's the fishing?"  
  
"As good as can be expected," I answer, "Where's Pansy and Draco?"  
  
"Somewhere off in the house, snogging," She shrugged, "I thought they'd never get it together. It seemed like Draco was permanently frozen or something. Hopefully, Pansy can get him out of his obsession with Potter. It's getting unhealthy."  
  
"You mean it wasn't before?" I laugh, "Gods above, Draco never shut up about him when Potter got his Firebolt. It was as if that broom was some kind of bomb that would go off if Draco stopped talking."  
  
She laughs with me, but our laughter sounds hollow. The impending return to Hogwarts seemed to have triggered the fear of the war again. I know I have a hard time keeping it from my mind these days. It's always there, just around the corner, and I know it will break out and sweep across the magical world soon. It's in the air. All we can really do is hope that this time, Potter won't fail. That this time, Potter won't stop to think before he screams the Killing Curse. Of all people still in school, he's one of the few who could actually pull it off.  
  
I stopped laughing and turned to look at Millicent. She was still looking out over the lake, chuckling to herself, but I could see the fear that seemed to have made its home in our eyes. She is not the type that appears fragile, but she is. Because she was not born with beauty, her self-esteem is rather low. I'm not bothered by my ugliness, and I've never thought of her as ugly anyway. Maybe it's because she's not ugly as such, just built one tenth over scale. Her shoulders are broader than mine, and her cheekbones are broad as well, making her resemble those Inuit people who live close to the North Pole. And that's not ugly, it's just different. She's shorter than me, by about a head, which means she's pretty tall.  
  
But of course, I'm biased. My idea of beauty might be different from the rest of the world. As I'm pretty ugly myself, I guess I don't tend to judge people on looks. It's just not in me. I turned back to my fishing, wondering if I'd gotten a heat stroke. I never contemplated beauty unless I'd hit my head on something. Maybe there was something in the water.  
  
Either way, it did not matter. I had my fishing pole, I had my friends, and I had my last day of freedom. And I was not going to waste it thinking about homework.  
  
******'  
  
I slipped the Defence book out from under my bed and settled down to read. I'd gotten to the Restricting Curse, which while not particularly difficult, could be both useful and dangerous. Besides, it had an interesting history. The curiosity about our new Defence teacher only grew larger. The Restricting Curse was basic, something we'd learned in fourth year, a simple curse. Taking it up in sixth year, when we were starting to specialise was rather strange when I thought about it.  
  
With my areas of specialisation, I was going to get a rather wide base of knowledge, which would give me a range of jobs to pick from. I was one of those people who had no idea what they wanted to do when they graduated. I couldn't for the life of me decide. The only thing I knew was that I wanted to stay as far away from Divination as possible. Trelawney frightened me. Good luck I'd perfected the technique of sleeping with my eyes open, or I'd never have made it through her lessons for two bloody years.  
  
The woman is seriously batty. Firenze, the centaur who had taken over when she was kicked off the staff by Umbridge was the only thing that got me through the last months of fifth year. He never expected us to understand what he was teaching us, and he never demanded homework. That's the kind of teacher I like. And besides, how many people can brag about being taught by a centaur?  
  
Despite Slytherin prejudice, I rather enjoyed the Care of Magical Creatures lessons. The hippogriffs and the Thestrals were the most interesting. I could see the Thestrals. I'd seen someone die; my grandmother. I'd been to visit them one Christmas, when I was about six, and she'd been ill. I spent a lot of time sitting by her bedside holding her hand, and that was what I'd been doing when she died. Then, death did not frighten me, because I did not understand it. I thought she'd just gone to sleep, and when everyone told me she had gone away the next day, I was happy, because I thought she was well again. Turns out she wasn't.  
  
After reading to the bottom of the page, I placed my bookmark there and put the book away. I yawned; the day had been filled with Quidditch playing and fishing, picnics and reading, so I was pretty worn out by now. It was past midnight, and even though it might be a little early for me, I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer. I turned over, and soon I was drifting off to sleep.  
  
******'  
  
Ending Notes; yes, Blaise angsts around a lot in this chapter, and it's a lot shorter than it could be, but I swear, I will make up for it. 


	9. The Long Way Home

Here it is then; the last chapter of The Edge of a Knife. Nine chapters might seem short, but when you consider that it is over 30 000 words long, it puts in a different perspective, doesn't it? I hope you enjoy it, and don't worry; Book 2 isn't far away now. Just a little further.  
  
*******'  
  
"I will see you again to-morrow.  
  
I will see you again in a million years.  
  
I will never know your dark eyes again."  
  
-Carl Sandburg, "Valley Song" (1918)  
  
******'  
  
It's official. I hate my life. Do you know how much the sixth year books weigh? I swear, I nearly broke my back when I tried to lift my trunk. Not to talk about how annoying Mrs Parkinson is when she tries to help me pack. I told her I had already packed everything, but oh no, she wouldn't listen. Annoying woman. I'm amazed Mr Parkinson can still stand her.  
  
I said goodbye to Draco, Pansy and Millicent, and climbed into the carriage that would take me home. Unease came over me once more; just the thought of spending any time in a home where my mother would force me to study, and my father was never home made me edgy. My sister would be coming to me with her questions again, and I would have to feel my anger rise as I answered them. Sometimes, I hate my family. Why can't they just get along and get it over with?  
  
I know divorce is out of the question; it's against the traditional Pureblood marriage law, but they could at least resolve their differences. I want my father home with us, and I want my mother to not be miserable. I want my sister to stop having to come to me with her questions, and I want to be able to live as normal a life one can have as a Slytherin. It's just my luck that I had to go to school with Draco Malfoy and in the same year as Harry Potter. Had I been just one year ahead, as I should have been, none of this would have happened the same way, that was for certain. I was born on New Year's Eve, just one day short of being a year ahead of Potter.  
  
I watched the landscape pass by slowly, not really registering what was happening outside of my own mind. I have a habit of drifting off into my own world that I know annoys my mother no end. She says my father is just the same, and that we really should change. But my father and I won't change; I for one am happy being a very mentally preoccupied person. It is part of who I am, and there's no changing it, not now, not ever.  
  
My father and I are alike in so many ways, and not just the physical. We're both very quiet by nature, and find that poking fun at others and insulting them is amusing, as well as an unexplainable passion for fishing. Maybe we're both so fond of the peace and quiet that we are natural born fishers. A strange occupation for a Slytherin, but nice all the same. My mother and I, however, could not be less alike.  
  
First of all, she chatters. She can talk and talk and talk for hours about curtains and sewing and clothing. And she's so boring. Whenever I try to ask her something, she either stares blankly at me for a while before resuming her chattering, or she tells me to go and study instead and not waste her time. I'm sure she's a nice woman and all, but as a mother, she frankly stinks. She never should have been allowed to have children. If she had never married my father, and they had been friends instead, I'm sure she would have been much happier.  
  
*****'  
  
My feet had barely touched the ground when I was tackle-hugged by my little sister Marise. She barely reached to my waist, so I squatted down and picked her up easily. I swung her around a bit, grinning from ear to ear much like she did, before hugging her properly. I don't go in for public displays of affection all that much, but when it comes to my sister, a certain set of rules apply; Marise does what she wants and there's no stopping her, whatever I might be doing at the time.  
  
"Hey there Marise," I said, trying to get her to let go of my neck, "You do know I need to breathe, right?"  
  
"I missed you," She said, looking accusing, "Why were you gone for so long?"  
  
"I had to go and visit Draco and Pansy and Millie," I explained, starting for the house with her still clinging to me, "Like I do every year. Mother wouldn't let you come with me, so I had to go alone."  
  
"But I wanna go," She pouted, "And now mama says you'll have to go to school again. I don't want you to go."  
  
"But look at it this way," I grinned, "I'll be home for two days now, and we can go fishing and everything, and then I'll be home for Christmas, and then we can have a snowball war."  
  
"Yay! A snowball war!" She squealed, hugging me again.  
  
I chuckled. My sister was so easy to bribe; all I had to do was promise her a fishing trip and a snowball war come Christmas, and she wouldn't be able to wait for me to leave. She'd even pack my bags so I'd go away quicker. She was the kind of child that got to bed early the night before Christmas, because she thought it would come quicker if she did. Flawless logic, that.  
  
I pushed the door open, and put Marise down on the floor. I was home again. It was a strange feeling. It had been nearly two months since I put foot there, and before that, it had been almost half a year. I had opted not to go home for Christmas because of Umbridge and the uncertainty if I would be allowed back come term. I dropped the levitation charm on my trunk and let it fall to the floor, looking around me in silence.  
  
Our house, inherited from my maternal grandparents, it for the lack of a better word, huge. It appears to be built over scale, each detail larger than it should have been, and much larger than in any other house I had been inside. I tried to measure the distance up to the ceiling once, but gave up. I did measure the floor of the dining room once though, in my own steps. I came up with about two hundred, but I lost count a few times, so it could be more than that. And my steps are about a metre long. The dining room is the biggest room in the house, but that does not mean the others are very small.  
  
I ascended the stairs, mentally counting them in my head like I always did, and skipping the second step from the top. It creaked something terrible, and I did not want to alert our House Elves of my arrival. They tend to want to be of service a little too much, and get very annoying after more than a minute. I wandered through the hall, looking at the portraits of my maternal ancestors staring down at me, some smiling and waving, some fast asleep and snoring. Far off, I could hear Marise shout something at the top of her voice. She must have found mother or maybe even our elusive father, and must be telling them about my homecoming.  
  
I came to a stop at the door to my room. After a moment, I pushed it open, revealing the familiar blues and greens of my walls and bed. Everything was exactly where I left it; my books still spread over my desk and my bed, and some repairing supplies for my Silver Arrow still scattered on the floor. I'm proud to say that it's been a long time since I had to repair it; it's almost thirty years old, and I've only ever had to repair it twice, once when the twigs got bent, and another when the handle began to crack at the tip.  
  
I collapsed at the bed, staring at the ceiling. Two days left before I would be going back to Hogwarts for my sixth year of schooling. Damn, those years went by fast. I can still remember putting on the Sorting Hat and having it ask me if I wanted to be in Ravenclaw. And now, two years left and I would be out of there. Hopefully, in the test if I'd sink or swim, I'd swim.  
  
"Blaise, dear, come down here for a moment!" I could hear my mother not- quite-yelling.  
  
I sighed and rolled off my bed and got to my feet. This was exactly what I did not want right now; deal with my mother. But there was no choice, so I walked down the stairs again, skipping the creaking step, preparing to face the misplaced maternal feelings. I could see her standing in the hall, and one glance at her appearance had me snorting.  
  
My mother, while beautiful, has no sense at all. It was barely noon, and she was wearing an evening dress and had too much make up on, and her hair. Oh ye gods, her hair. While black as my own, and curly as well, it was longer than how I wore it. And let me tell you, wearing hair as curly as ours longer than down to ones shoulders results in nothing but a hideous crow's nest, as Granger can testify.  
  
As soon as I reached the hall, she gave me an obligatory hug before letting me go quickly. I rolled my eyes behind her back; she had no clue as to how to deal with children. She had yet to understand why we weren't perfect copies of her and father.  
  
"Welcome back dear," She smiled, "Did you have fun while you were away?"  
  
"Yes," I answered truthfully, "I did. Is father home?"  
  
"No dear, he isn't; he had to work again today," That's another of her annoying habits; she calls me "dear" all the time, even when she could just as well use my name, "He will be back later tonight. He's very proud of you and your high grades."  
  
"That's nice," I sighed, "Mother, I have an assignment I have to finish, can I go?"  
  
"Of course you can dear," She kept that vapid smile up the whole time, "We don't want you to fall behind on your school work now that you've got so high grades, do we? Professor Snape would be very disappointed with you."  
  
I refrained from telling her that I wasn't going to take Potions in sixth year, and instead nodded silently. I did have some assignments to finish, but I worked best at night. However, it was a good excuse, and I wasn't going to tell her that. Wasting a perfectly good excuse was nothing but stupid. She gave me one last hug before she sent me on my way, and I went happily.  
  
I dislike talking to my mother. She sets very high standards for me, and if I do not fit them, she racks down on me and insults my intelligence, all veiled in what she calls "motherly concern." Motherly concern? Oh yeah, and I like the colour pink. Please, if she was concerned about me, she'd come right out and say it, not ask me some stupid questions about how my school work is going. My mother must be the very image of stupidity. I can't believe she actually graduated from her school of choice.  
  
Don't get me wrong, I don't hate her; she's just so interfering in a life I am doing perfectly fine on running on my own. I don't need her any more than I need someone to tell me how to put on my shirt the right way. I slammed the door to my room closed and stopped for a moment. I really needed to finish my last assignments. I fished them out of my trunk and walked over to the desk. If I got a few hours of effective work in now, I wouldn't have to stress with them tomorrow. I work well under stress, I do, but I prefer not to. I tend to consume a lot of coffee, and I act like a zombie for some time afterwards.  
  
******'  
  
Darkness had fallen when Marise woke me up. I'd fallen asleep on my parchment, and I could feel the ink marks on my forehead, but I had finished them. Arithmancy equations glared up at me from the page, each one solved, Transfiguration incantations spelled out cleanly and correctly, and a satisfaction over having finished washed over me. Though I wished to sit there for a while and smile as if I was demented, my sister hanging off my arm distracted me somewhat, and I turned away to face her instead.  
  
"What is it Marise?" I asked, "Is it dinner yet?"  
  
"No, stupid," She giggled, "Dinner was two hours ago. Mum said to check if you were sleeping. You were, so I woke you up."  
  
"Two hours ago?" I exclaimed, lifting her up into my lap, "I didn't get any food? What is this, some kind of starvation program? I'm getting some food right now; to the kitchen!"  
  
I hoisted her up on my shoulders as I headed for the door, laughing along with her. To think that my mother had neglected to wake me up for dinner. Well, I knew my way around my own house, and could easily get some food on my own. But it irked me that she had just plain ignored to call me down. And it meant that my father had yet to come home, which bothered me. Mother had said in her last letter that he would be, and now that he wasn't, I felt robbed of something. My father was supposed to be home.  
  
We came out in the corridor, and I headed down the stairs towards the kitchen, making sure my sister, who was bouncing up and down, did not fall off my shoulders, while grinning to myself. Whatever bad happened, my sister never failed to make me smile. She's so liberating in her spontaneity; never has she ever let life get her down. She usually comes up with something to do to keep boredom away. Like climbing the highest tree she could find, which turned out to be located right next to my bedroom window. Needless to say, I pulled her in through the window, and spent the night on the floor, as she had occupied my bed.  
  
We descended the stairs together, still grinning and giggling in my sister's case. I turned to start towards the kitchen, and froze in mid- step. My father was standing in the hall, still wearing his working robes, looking bone tired. Marise squealed, but I did not join her in her exclamation of happiness. I merely put her down on the ground so that she could run up and hug him properly, instead of clinging to my head.  
  
It came as a shock, and a nasty one at that, but I did not recognise my own father, as I should have. I knew it was him, of course; the height was the same, the facial shape and general build was the same, but had it not been because I knew in my bones that it was my father, I would have taken him for a stranger. It was over a year that I saw him last; I did not go home for Christmas, and he was on a business trip when I returned home before going off to Pansy's. And he had changed; he was no longer the happy, laughing man I remembered.  
  
"Blaise," He said, holding out a hand towards me, "Welcome home."  
  
Plain words, much more heartfelt than my mother's, and somehow, I finally felt as if I was home, even though it was this father turned stranger who spoke to me. No longer thinking straight, I took the last few steps up to him, my eyes filling with tears I knew I would not shed, and wrapped my arms around him, following my sister's example. Not something I would normally have done, but it felt like something I had to do.  
  
"It's good to be back," I answered, letting go of him, "Now, I would love to stay and talk, but I missed dinner, and if I don't eat soon, I'll keel over."  
  
I left my sister and my father in the hall, and wandered off. I could hear Marise telling him about me taking her fishing the next day, and smiled. Always enthusiastic that one. But now for food; anything else could wait until tomorrow - food was, and always has been, my main concern.  
  
*******'  
  
My sister is, without a doubt, one of the most annoying creatures in this world. She woke me up the next morning by jumping on my bed and putting her bony knees in my ribs. I opened my eyes only after hitting her with my pillow, and got up swearing to buy a lock to my room, if only to ensure privacy. There are times when one does not want to be disturbed. I most often do not want to be disturbed, but that is mainly because of my independent and anti-social personality than anything else.  
  
I managed to fight my way out of bed, and into my clothes and down the stairs without any major injuries. Still not fully awake, I listened to my sister's chatter as I drank my morning coffee, glaring at nothing. Marise did not seem to notice, or did and did not let it bother her, and kept on chattering about fishing for the ten minutes it took me to finish my coffee. Then, getting a hold of a fishing rod each for us, I took her by the hand and led her off towards the lake.  
  
The lake is located some fifteen minute's walk from our house, and we chatted about everything under the sun on the way. She asked me about Pansy and Millicent, both of which she really likes talking to, and how Draco was. She's not really as fond of Draco as she is of the girls, but he is and will always be her "Uncle Draco". I still laugh when I hear that expression. Just the thought of Draco as someone's uncle is hilarious.  
  
"Blaise?" She asked after we had gotten about halfway.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Do butterflies die?" She looked so sincerely curious that I did not even stop to think about the absurdity of the question.  
  
"Yes, they do," I answered, "But they don't live as long as we do. Some of them only live for a day. Some of them live for a week; I never learned how long they can live, but not as long as we do, that's for certain. Why do you ask?"  
  
"I had a dream," She shrugged, "There were butterflies everywhere, and there was this old lady who told me the butterflies would burn. I didn't like her; she was creepy. But the butterflies burned; so did our house. It was a scary dream."  
  
It concerned me that my sister was having nightmares, and I stopped. I knelt down in front of her, and put a hand on her shoulder. She looked so scared, and I didn't want to think about how she must have felt waking up after that dream.  
  
"Our house is not going to burn," I promised her, "Not unless it is an accident, and I promise nothing bad will happen to us, alright?"  
  
She nodded, and with a smile, I stood up again.  
  
"Let's go fishing," I told her, grinning and holding out a hand towards her.  
  
Fishing turned out to be a pleasant experience; we didn't get any fish, but we were hardly discouraged. Like me, Marise had grasped the concept of fishing from the word go. The idea is not to get fish, but to spend as much time as possible with a fishing rod in you hands, pretending to get fish. She learned from her older brother, and I'm proud of her. Our father used to be a champion fisher in our own spirit, but after getting promoted, he never had time for it anymore.  
  
We spent the whole day at the lake, trying our hardest not to get any fish. As my sister will be going to Hogwarts in a few years, most of our conversation centred on that topic. She asked about everything she had heard me talk about before, just to hear me tell of it again. Stories about Hogwarts are the stories she loves she most, and she can hear the same one over and over, and still think it's wonderful. Personally, I can't understand her fascination with hearing the same story over and over. Sure, Hogwarts is a wonderful place, but hearing about the moving stairs seven times in a row? There are limits, even for me.  
  
"Tell me about Slytherin's House ghost again," She requested.  
  
"Alright," I said, rolling my eyes. Not that I was protesting too much; the Bloody Baron is a favourite topic of mine when it comes to talking about Hogwarts, "He's called the Bloody Baron, although when you meet him, you call him Baron. He doesn't like being disrespected, but if you are polite to him, he'll help you if he can. He won't help you if you're Gryffindor, because Gryffindor's have been disrespectful to him in the past. But since you most likely will end up in Slytherin, you won't have that problem."  
  
"What's it like being a Slytherin?" She asked, looking up at me "Is it nice?"  
  
"Well," I drag out my answer, not knowing how to phrase it, "It's nice being a Slytherin among other Slytherins, but the other students aren't too nice to you if you wear silver and green. They'll think you're bad because you're in Slytherin, and you'll have to work really hard to prove that you aren't. Ravenclaws tend to be nicer to Slytherins, though."  
  
"Oh." She fell silent after that.  
  
As the sun began to set, we got our things together and began to head back towards our house. As the fifteen minute walk leads through quite a thick forest, it took a while before we could see the house. As I'd put the fishing rods in the tiny hut-like building at the lake, I'd picked up my sister so that the walk would be faster. I did not want to miss dinner again. Last night had been traumatic enough.  
  
*****'  
  
As soon as I'd taken one step out of the forest, I knew something was wrong. For one, houses are not supposed to have flames coming out of their windows. I watched as everything slowed down, the flames soaring up towards the sky, people moving about closer to the house, trying to put it out. I froze up completely, could not think, could not move, could not even breathe. Marise tried to get down and towards the house, but I kept my hold on her, almost death-grip like now, to keep her from running straight into the flames.  
  
The only thought that churned through my brain was; was my parents still alive?  
  
Finally getting my sense back, I ran towards the house, heading for the group of people in front of it, instinctively knowing that if my parents were anywhere, they would be there. I reached them, still holding onto Marise, wildly searching for my parents among the soot-stained people. I did not find them, no matter how much I looked, and panic began to seize me. Just as I was about to run further, a hand clamped down on my shoulder. I spun around, crouching, and came face to face with a man I did not recognise.  
  
"Do you live here?" He asked me.  
  
"Yeah, I do," I answered, choking slightly on my words, "Where are my parents?"  
  
"Your mum is over here," The man directed me, "She's been asking for you since she came to."  
  
Not even thinking about thanking him, I headed in the direction he had pointed out, wanting nothing but to find my parents. I could hear Marise say something, but the urgency to find my mother overwhelmed me, and I could not listen. There she was; she was sitting on the ground, soot all over her and red eyed from the smoke, and I did not think twice before dropping to my knees in front of her and hugging her for all I was worth. I could hear Marise sobbing next to me, asking repeatedly where father was, and I could not help but repeat her question as well.  
  
"Where's father?" I coughed in the smoky air, "Where's father?"  
  
"He's in there," She was sobbing. Never in my whole life have I seen my mother cry, but now she let the tears fall, "He got caught by the fire. Oh gods, Blaise, he's still in the flames!"  
  
My world froze, and everything seemed to move in slow motion. I could see the tears fall down her cheeks, and I could hear Marise crying. I could hear the people around us move and shout things to each other, but it all seemed insignificant. My father had been caught in the fire; he was dead. By now, he would have Apparated out if he had been able to. But he hadn't. He must be dead, and the thought fell into place in my mind with a small click, a quiet sound that drained out everything else around me.  
  
And then I went crazy.  
  
The world that had previously been so hazy suddenly when sharp and clear again, although every action was slowed down significantly, and I could see the flames roll in lazy waves from the doors and windows of our house. I got to my feet, letting go of both Marise and my mother, and I screamed. I turned towards the fire, still screaming my father's name, trying to run towards the house, but various strangers held me back. I attempted to fight the restraints, and almost made it, but then more people got a hold of me and prevented me from an insane suicide.  
  
I watched as the house began to collapse, the top floor going first, crashing down into the others, definitely sealing my father's fate. I fell to my knees, out of breath from screaming, throat hurting. I felt tears course down my cheeks, but did nothing to stop them. For a moment, I had stopped feeling, and I had a hunch that I would not start feeling again in a long time. Our house burned in front of my eyes, and I could do nothing to stop it. I would rage, I would hurt and I would hate later. For now, I just watched with an indescribable feeling of sorrow choking me.  
  
I closed my eyes from the flames, feeling the heat on my eyelids. For every heartbeat that passed, my life was spiralling out of control.  
  
*****'  
  
Ending Notes; abrupt ending, I know, but I needed to end in quickly, and dramatically, so that I could get going with Book 2. Which I've been working on for some time now, and which will be up in the next few days. You might even get the first chapter on Christmas! Have fun now. 


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